Adventures in Jotunheim
by KingGustav
Summary: The Nordics take a much-needed vacation to Jotunheimen, Norway's tallest mountains and named after the home of the giants in Norse mythology. While there, they go on an adventure never experienced before, with trolls, ghosts, and other events.
1. Chapter 1

_For the music..._

 _Use Kabalevsky's Colas Breugnon Overture at the beginning._

 _During the retelling of Peer Gynt, use a recording of the full ballet, preferably the one by the Malmo Orchestra. Use the tracks from the Dairymaids to the Bøyg._

* * *

"Is everybody ready to hit the slopes?" Norway asked enthusiastically.

"Not as ready as you are," Sweden muttered. "You've been pushing this trip for months."

Norway nodded and replied, "Well, now's the peak time to go. And to have a good ski trip, you have to plan ahead."

"Yes, we understand the principle," Sweden said, attempting to put on the heavy boots Norway had provided. "But, it seems, that six months in advance is a bit overboard."

Iceland chirped in, "Yeah, and some of us don't have excessive amounts of kroner to spend on skiing gear." He gave a slightly cursory glance at his brother.

"That's why I'm letting you borrow some of my gear," Norway said gently. "If you're tame with it, I might even let you keep it."

Iceland shrugged. "That's okay. I mainly lava-board instead." He pulled out his snowboard. "I might need my snowboard repaired, though. I don't think it was meant for magma."

Norway laughed and said, "Sure. Just set it over there." He looked at his phone. "Hmm. Finland was supposed to be here by now. Where could he be?"

"Knowing him, probably with my sister," Sweden grumbling. "Also, did Denmark say whether or not he was coming?" Norway nodded. "He told me yesterday that he intended to."

Just then, Finland stumbled in, clutching an ancient pair of skis and wearing a heavy white parka. A hunting rifle was strapped to his back, hidden underneath the parka. Åland was following. "Sorry, we lost track of time in the sauna," he sheepishly told the group. Sweden looked at his boyfriend disapprovingly. "Why is your cousin fumbling around?"

"The moron ate salmiakki that wasn't ready yet," Åland replied, giving Finland a reproachful glance. The offending nation just stared off into space, then snapped out of it. He shook his head violently, then focused his drunken gaze on Sweden. He lunged at him with his knife; Åland restrained him. Finland grabbed his cousin and whispered something in his ear. With an embarrassed expression, Åland asked Norway, "Finland wants to know if he can camp out in a tree and peg rabbits with his hunting rifle." Finland nodded vigorously. Norway said, "Absolutely not! Frisk him before we leave, Åland, lest he have already packed supplies to do so." Finland looked at Norway with a murderous glare.

The door opened. Denmark had arrived, wearing too many layers and holding a sled. Norway laughed, and removed about three of them from his friend's body, leaving him with long underwear, his Dannebrog, and a parka. Norway gave him a bigger hat and some heavier boots. "Norway, you know how I am with snow," Denmark whined. "I don't know if it's going to kill me or not!"

Sweden rolled his eyes. "It won't kill you, Denmark, unless you do something remarkably stupid like- you know, I'm just going to stop talking. Lord knows that you'll take me seriously." Åland padded down Finland, and forced him to fork over his hunting rifle. "It'll be safe here, I promise," Norway said in a quasi-comforting manner. With a glare that would kill if it wasn't hampered by a bad case of ammonium poisoning, he very reluctantly handed Åland his gun.

"So, where are we going, Norway?" Iceland asked as they piled into Norway's beat-up truck. "Really? Environmental nut Norway, using a truck?" Sweden remarked.

"First off, Sweden, I'm not taking my Leaf on a skiing trip. Second off, Iceland, we're going to the Jotunheimen Mountains. Those big ones," Norway said, pointing to a picture-perfect range of pointy, snow-laden peaks due northwest of Oslo. Denmark whimpered.

After piling all of the skiing and lodging supplies in the covered bed, the six nations crammed themselves into Norway's truck. Norway was driving, with the next biggest person (Sweden) riding shotgun. Which left Finland smashed between his cousin and Denmark (Iceland elected to ride on the floor). The last thing that Finland wanted to experience during the worst headache of recent memory was a long car ride with Åland next to him, and the feeling was mutual. Denmark alleviated this pain by offering Finland a beer, which the latter nation happily accepted.

The conversations during the 5 hour ride to Jotunheimen National Park twisted and turned almost as much as the Norwegian coastline. Finally, it settled on a peculiar topic that some had forgotten. "Say, Norway, where did you say we were going?" Iceland asked as the mountains started to make a larger appearance. "Jotunheimen National Park," Norway answered. "We're going to cross-country ski the lodge system they have set up there."

Iceland tilted his head. "Jotunheimen? As in Jötunheimr?"

Norway went quiet for a moment, then said, "Yeah. They were named that because the people who lived here thought that if Jotunheim existed anywhere, it would be there. Hence, they feared that area." Denmark piped up, "What's Jotunheim?"

"The ancient realm of the race of Giants," Norway said. "In the old ways, there was a race of Giants that lived on the Midgard plane- or Earth- in Jotunheim, which existed alongside humans. They were a violent people, often destroying human villages. So a massive mountain range was erected to separate the two worlds. There are many stories from this time, and they are very scary, much scarier than most of the other tales of the time. Not as scary as some Finnish stories, but still quite so," he added, pacifying Finland, who nodded in agreement.

"So the Giants don't live on Earth anymore?" Denmark asked, quiet. Norway laughed, "They never lived on Earth. Those were old tales told when people not only believed in multiple gods, but multiple worlds." Denmark leaned forward. "That sounds cool, though. Can you tell me more?" Norway sighed. "I'll try, it's been forever since I read the old tales." He paused to remember.

"The belief was that the Universe was comprised of nine worlds, connected by the World Tree. The ones of main importance were Asgard on high, the world of gods; Manheim and Jotunheim on Midgard, or Earth; and Helheim, the underworld. The other worlds were inhospitable places that few ever went to, if at all. They were home to ferocious monsters and evils that would destroy the universe in Ragnarok, the end days." He looked back at his friend. "Does that satisfy you?"

Denmark said, "Can I ask a few questions?"

Iceland said, "You can ask me too, I might know more than Norway."

"Okay, first question," Denmark said. "If the whole universe was built upon this tree thing, then what was everything else?"

"That's Ginnungagap," Iceland said. "The Void."

"What sort of beings lived on these other worlds?"

"Elves, dwarves. None of them terribly pleasant."

"I see. Thanks, you two."

"Anytime," Norway said. "Ah, we're almost here!" They started to climb up a winding road through the dense Norwegian wood, stopping in front of a small cabin. "Alright, disembark!" Norway ordered. Five nations in varying states of sleepiness and Norway got out of the truck and started unloading the equipment.

The cabin was quite nice, much nicer than the cabins that Norway had had to put up with when he visited Switzerland. It came with a decent kitchen, lots of windows, and plenty of mattresses. "Hey, instead of bickering about room assignments, why don't we just pile the mattresses into the living room and sleep in the one room?" Norway suggested. "How… _Norwegian_ of you," Sweden said.

"Thank you," Norway replied.

"Actually, I like that idea," Åland said. "Let's do it!"

"Hold up, are you saying we each sleep on our own mattress in the same room?" Denmark said. "Yes," Norway, Sweden, and Åland said at the same time. "Hm. Why not?" Denmark shrugged. "Finland, you in?" The other nation, working through the cloudy haze that was left, nodded, resigning himself to whatever fate that included. "Great," Norway said. "Let's unpack, then draw up a plan for our trip. We should allocate our hiking times wisely, since these cabins are reserved."

They loaded their food rations for the next two days into the fridge, then took a nap until suppertime. They had decided on the smorgasbord, since it encompassed all of their favorites, save for Finland, but he brought his own food supply to add to the table. And Iceland, but he had told himself that it was only going to be a short time before he could eat goat balls again.

When the sun started going down, Norway and Sweden slid two tables together. Denmark sorted the courses- breads, cheeses and butter, meat, seafood, then the hot dishes- to an order that the others never saw Denmark use anywhere else. Finland contributed bread and fish, and Iceland pulled out a ice chest. "See, brother, I even made something!" When he opened it, everyone instantly became nauseous. "Oh God, what is that? _Did you bring hákarl?"_ Norway said, retching. "No," Iceland said, offended. "It's lutefisk!" Norway wheeled around to face him. "What?! My lutefisk never smells that bad! What fish did you use?"

"Cod."

"Oh God."

"Will it still be consumable?"

"Yes, put it over there. I'll demonstrate how to eat lutefisk while we're at it, I made some of my own." Norway unveiled a small pot with almost translucent fish in it. It let off no odor, but Sweden knew from instinct that this was not something that was to be eaten lightly. Next to it, Norway placed a bowl full of hot butter, with small plastic cups.

Finland produced several takeout containers, from which an almost heavenly smell emanated. "As much as he hates him, Finland has a weak spot for Russia's pelmeni," Åland said. "He thought to share with the rest of you."

"Mmm, thanks, Finland," Sweden said, eying the source of the smell with greedy eyes.

The table was soon replete with all manners of Nordic dishes. It was time to eat. Each person piled their plates with their favorite treats- Norway had lefse, boiled potatoes, and smoked herring. Sweden and Åland had meatballs, fish, and raw onions on crispbread. Denmark, of course, had smørrebrød. Finland piled his plate high with bread, butter, and meats. Which left Iceland. He poked around the various dishes, trying a little herring and meatballs, a little lefse. Then he got to the lutefisk.

There were two options available, his and Norway's. He decided to see why Norway had flipped out. He opened the ice chest, and was immediately overcome by a violently offensive smell. Even _he_ wasn't used to food smelling this awful; when stuff got to this stage, he usually threw it out. He put a small amount on his plate, and sat off to the side as to not offend the noses of his friends and family.

He gingerly placed a bit on his tongue, and started to choke. He had lost all feeling in his mouth, and he swore that it was burning a hole in his tongue. Suddenly, he felt someone lean him back and pour a hot liquid down his throat. Although it was less than comfortable, he regained some sense of feeling in his tongue, and he immediately grabbed his tongue to feel for holes.

"Silly Viking," Norway said, "lutefisk isn't for kids!" Finland sat Iceland back up. Norway took his own fork and tried a little of Iceland's lutefisk. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, but he managed to swallow it. "Diagnosis: too much fermentation and the wrong fish," he told his little brother.

"But I followed the Wikipedia article!" Iceland said, frustrated.

"Hey, next time you try making another country's dish, ask them for help. You used the wrong fish, you soaked it for too long, and you didn't change out the water like you were supposed to," Norway explained. "Here, try mine." He put some of his lutefisk on Iceland's plate. It had no odor, and looked quite different. To help, he put butter on it. Iceland looked at Norway with a suspicious expression, and he swallowed the fish. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Not bad. Now, if we could compromise somewhere between yours and mine, then it would be perfect."

"Now, I like talking about culturally penitential foods just as much as the next guy, but is anyone else of the opinion that we should allot our trail time, like Norway suggested earlier?" Sweden asked. "We _do_ have to get going tomorrow if we want to arrive at the next cabin at a reasonable hour."

Denmark groaned. "Ugh, do we _always_ have to be planning and stuff? Why can't we just drink and forget our troubles for the next day or so, then repeat?" Finland nodded vigorously in agreement.

Norway took Denmark by the hand and showed him outside. "Do you see the next cabin, over there?" he said, pointing to a low building that was barely visible, even in the perfectly clear sky. Denmark nodded. "Now, imagine being drunk off your _røv_ , stumbling about like Finland was earlier, and falling to your death." The two nations locked eyes, and Denmark got the message; that didn't stop him from complaining. "But I don't wanna _plan_ ," he whined. "We're always doing _boring_ stuff."

Norway looked at him and said gently, "Hey, I promise to keep Sweden from ruining this vacation. We won't let this become last year." Denmark looked up at Norway. "Oh, okay," he said. He latched himself to Norway in as big a hug he could give.

They re-entered the cabin, and were greeted by their fellow Scandinavian. "Are you two done yet? We really need to construct an itinerary."

"Okay. 2 hours," Norway stated.

"WHAT? That's not enough time!" Sweden said, face turning red.

Norway gave him a glare that said _If you don't accept my terms, I will go full berserker on you._

Sweden capitulated.

"Good, good," Norway said, the friendly look and jolly spirit back in its place.

They packed up the leftovers, save the takeout containers, putting everything back in the fridge or in storage for the trip over the ridge. "Åland, Finland, if you two could arrange the table, that would be great."

2 hours later, six nations tiredly set up the mattresses. "Urgh, at least we don't have to do that ever again," Denmark said. "I've been to UN meetings more enthralling than that."

" _Alright, alright, you made your point!"_ Sweden said, frustrated. "At least we have a plan now, don't we?"

"You know the thing about plans, Sweden," Denmark said, lowering his gaze at the other nation. "There's always a way they can go wrong."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sweden asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I dunno," Denmark said, flopping on his bed.

"Hey, why don't we tell stories, like we did that one time when the power went out?" Iceland suggested.

"Oh yes, because I'm _totally_ in the mood to bawl my eyes out to one of Finland's sob stories," Sweden deadpanned. A fierce grunt indicated that Finland was _not pleased_ with that comment.

"Here, how about we each tell one a different night? It could be one that we already know, or one that we make up on the spot. I'll tell tonight's," Norway said.

"I call tomorrow!" Denmark yelled into Sweden's ear.

"I got it after that," Sweden added, scowling at Denmark.

"Next," Iceland said.

"Aw, I wanted to!" Åland said. "Oh, well, I'll settle for after that. That means you're last, Finland."

Finland looked plenty happy with that.

"All right, here goes something," Norway said, turning off the lights and turning on a flashlight. "In a bygone age, there was a teenager named Peer…"

* * *

 _In the 1850's…_

Peer woke up, the sun shining through his window in Troldhaugen, illuminating an already bustling port scene in the nearby city of Bergen. Ships were coming to and from the harbor, laden with goods from the Continent. He could hear the sailors' orders and laughter, and smell the freshly caught herring. In other words, just like a normal day. The _Unionsmerket_ flew high on the sails. He turned, and gazed out at the magical Jotunheimen Mountains in the east. _Someday,_ he thought, _I'll be wandering those mountains, exploring and discovering newfound treasures._ He left home and went into the town square, where the farmers were preparing the carts for the Bergen markets, laden with potatoes and fish.

"Hallo, Peer!" Lars the miller called out. "Can you help me with some lifting? I need to get these bags of wheat onto the ox-cart."

Peer shook his head. "I'm going out for the day!" he called back. "Maybe later?"

Lars smiled. "You know, Solveig might be around later."

You've never seen someone change gears as rapidly as Peer did. "Well, in that case… how many of these bags do you need moved?"

As he finished off the last of the bags, he said, "Hey, Lars, want to hear what I did yesterday?"

Lars turned around and said kindly, "Not right now, Peer, I have to take this to Bergen. But I think Solveig might; she always likes hearing your stories."

Peer knew that Solveig did not enjoy his stories at all. Regardless, Peer leaned against the mill, and waited.

Soon enough, she arrived. She was easily the prettiest girl Peer had ever met, the personification of Norwegian beauty with fairer skin than one should have in the cloudy North and long blond hair. It was his wish to marry her, and they had actually agreed to do so once they were both of age… upon one condition: he stop telling tall tales.

"Hey, Solveig!" Peer called. She turned to see who it was, and she ran over to him. "Peer!" she exclaimed. "How have you been?"

"Great! Want to hear what I did the other day?"

The smile melted from Solveig's face. "Remember what we said? Those tales of yours are going to get you in very big trouble if you don't cut it out! You must be careful; Åse herself said so! When your own mother doesn't know fact from your fiction, you know you have to change!"

He just smiled back at her. "Aw, Solveig, I know what I'm doing! And I wasn't going to tell you a story anyway! I was going to say that I went into Bergen the other day."

That brought Solveig back to normal. "Oh? And what did you do?"

"Nothing major. Just hauled some herring back to the village. I heard that there was a Danish ship in Christiania, and Martinsen's _convinced_ that Denmark's trying to take us back." Solveig rolled her eyes. "That man has it out for the Danes, Peer. Best not believe everything he says. What are you up to today, anyway?"

"Nothing much. I'm probably going to go on an adventure."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Where to?"

"Off into the mountains!" Peer said excitedly, pointing towards the Jotunheimen.

"Well, I won't be keeping you. Do be careful, Peer," she said, kissing him on the cheek before running off.

"Aw, golly," he chuckled, smiling stupidly. He shook himself out of the stupor and went to Bergen for a bedroll.

After meandering through alleyways and drying racks, he managed to find someone selling them, as well as haversacks.

"And how much would these be?" Peer asked, pointing to a modest rucksack.

"50 kroner," the merchant said gruffly.

Peer went pale. "50 KRONER?!" he exclaimed. "That's my whole savings!"

"Take or leave it," the merchant replied, returning to another customer.

Grumbling, Peer bought a 15-krone bedroll, and returned home. As he entered, Åse, his mother, called, "Peer, you're needed!" Peer blew her off. "Sorry, Mum, I'm off on an adventure! Catch you later!" Åse stormed in. "Listen here, young man! You're father left on an 'adventure' 17 years ago and has yet to return! I will not have you do the same thing!" She saw Peer's alarmed expression, then shrunk. "I'm sorry Peer," she said solemnly. "I'll let you do your thing now." She left, shaking her head.

He trundled off into the east, heading towards the mountains.

He rounded a corner and came upon a green valley in between the forest and a wall of mountains. Dancing in the middle of the valley were three buxom dairymaids. Raising an eyebrow, he forged ahead on the path.

"Hello," he called. "I couldn't help but notice that you seem to missing your cattle," he continued, gesturing to the empty fields. They turned.

"Oh, we're not watching after cattle," one dairymaid said.

"We're waiting," said the second.

"For hunks," completed the third, giving a nod.

"Really, now?" Peer said, his curiosity piquing.

"Yes, we're waiting for hunks. Preferably trolls," the first repeated, also nodding.

"Trolls?" Peer cried. "Why in the name of all that's good would you want trolls?"

"Because they're hot," the second told him. "And they'll bed down with anyone. Which gives us good chances."

"Also, if they're not good to us, they'll be taken care of," the third said, pointing to three stakes with heads on them. "They did not fulfill our desire, so we took care of them."

Peer gulped. He did not want to be around much longer to see their troll fetish fulfilled, nor to become their newest display. "It's really been a pleasure, ladies, but I really must be going now," he said nervously, chuckling a little. He picked up his pack and moved forward, but was blocked.

"And where do you think you're going?" said a dairymaid.

"Uh, forward," Peer replied.

"What, and leave us here?" the third one said.

"Why, yes," said Peer matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I don't think so," the second sang. "Either you pay up, or you join them," she said, pointing to the heads. Peer's eyes flitted to the sides, looking for an escape route. He knew exactly what 'payment' meant. But he asked anyway, to keep them talking.

"So, uh, what kind of payment do you want?" he said, inching closer to the unblocked side route.

"Funny you should ask," said the first dairymaid. They started taking their clothes off, and right than Peer saw his chance. He bolted for the side and quickly escaped the sisters, who were entangled in their clothes. Soon, he was far away, but they were catching up. It would've been the sight to see, three naked dairymaids bounded after the terrified Peer.

He ran, and could hear their shouts coming closer, and closer, and closer… and then the day got _really_ weird.

He heard a voice shout, "CLEAR HIM, OLAV! CLEAR HIM!" He tripped, and suddenly it felt like he had been hit over the head with a hammer, out cold.

When he came to, he was not on a stake as a warning to others who resisted the dairymaids' advances. He was in front of a fire, where a gorgeous woman in a green dress was cooking what appeared to be goose.

"Huh? What?" he said suddenly, and he was hushed by his new captor. "You've been out for a while. Sorry about that, that was my fault. Olav ran you over," she said, glaring at… Peer couldn't tell, but he knew that it couldn't be. He swore it was a giant pig, the size of a small cow.

"Anyway, I'll take you back to the main path; you're heading into the mountains, correct?" Peer nodded. "I'm heading that direction as well," she said. "In the meantime, get some sleep."

In the morning, she mounted him onto Olav the giant pig and they took off for the mountains. She dropped him off back at the path; she bade him farewell. "Goodbye, Peer Gynt. Maybe we see each other in the future. I do not know." And she bounded off on her pig through the valley.

He meandered through the valley, occasionally crossing over to the forest to sleep and hunt. Thankfully, he was a resourceful boy and knew how to do basic traps, snares, and other means of catching food. And then he came across the cave.

It was about a week into his journey when he saw it. It had a modest opening, but he could've sworn that he heard chanting and singing coming from it. Putting his ear to the entrance, the noise stopped. He decided to enter.

It suddenly opened up considerably into a passageway. He tried to muffle his footsteps, but they resonated loudly even when tiptoeing.

The pathway wound this way and that, and it was probably the creepiest cave Peer had discovered thus far. He always felt that he was being watched. No light entered the cave, except for the faint beam that illuminated where the walls were.

Aftew a ways, he heard the shriek. "It's him! "It's him!" a screeching female voice blurted out. "Kill him! _Kill him!_ " Suddenly Peer was running for his life, dozens of angry trolls pushing him deeper and deeper into the cave. Eventually, they herded him into another army of trolls, and they sang out, "Kill the Christian's son! He has seduced the daughter of our king!" They sang this chorus over and over. They pushed him into a vast gathering chamber, where hags cried out for his fingers, hair, and other unpleasantries to cook. Then, he heard his saving grace.

"Stop!" a loud, booming voice resounded. Peer turned. A great bear of a troll sat on a large throne. He did not look rotten or even ugly like his brethren, but more like a fairy-tale villain. "I am the king of the trolls, and I will be the one who decides death." He looked down at a trembling Peer. "What be your name, lad?" he asked.

"P- P- Peer," Peer stammered.

"Ah," the king said, nodding as if he recognized the name. That unsettled the boy a lot; where could he have known him from? "You know my daughter, of course?" Peer scowled. "No, I don't." Then he stopped.

It was the woman in the green dress.

"I'm sorry, Peer," she said, tearful. "I saw you sleeping and… well, I couldn't help myself…"

Peer became very frightened. "Oh my God!" he yelled. "I have a girl back home, I can't be a, a _father_!"

"Can't be a father, eh?" the king said with deadly calm. "Well than, I guess there's only one course left for you." He turned to his masses. "Take the Norwegian! Bash him on the rocks!"

"Run, Peer, run!" the princess yelled, and Peer did. He ran, ran, and ran. They chased him down into the bowels of the mountain, to a place where the trolls themselves did not dare go. He found himself in a large cavernous room. All light was absent; he couldn't even make out his hand.

 _Why, hello,_ said a ghostly voice.

"Who's there?" Peer said, rounding, trying to find the source.

 _Myself._

"Who's myself?"

 _Myself._

"That stupid reply you may spare; it doesn't clear up the matter. What are you?"

 _Myself._

Peer kicked the floor with anger. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

 _The Bøyg will not let you pass._

The association of a name gave Peer a glimmer of hope. "Go on, Bøyg."

 _The Bøyg, Peer Gynt! The one only one. It's the Bøyg that's unwounded, and the Bøyg that was hurt, it's the Bøyg that is dead, and the Bøyg that's alive._

"Now what the heck does that mean?" Peer said, getting angry.

 _Go roundabout, Peer!_

"What? The hell does that mean?"

Peer began running around the cave; _go around,_ the so-called Bøyg had said. Suddenly, he fell through the floor screaming, and he landed brutally into a hay bale. He looked around.

He was home.

"Peer? Is that you?"

Solveig.

 _SOLVEIG!_

Peer quickly found himself in the arms of his girlfriend.

"You won't believe the adventure I've had," he said, out of breath.

She smiled, laughed him off, and embraced him in a kiss.

* * *

"Not a bad tale, if I say so myself," Sweden said. "It'll be hard to follow up, Denmark," he said. Denmark shrugged. "Meh. I can do it. Just you watch." And they went to sleep.

* * *

 _A few notes._

 _One: I know the beginning's kinda boring, but I really wanted to see how the Nordics would bounce off each other in a mild domestic setting. The Nissan Leaf is apparently the best-selling car in Norway. Who knew?_

 _Two: My crash course in Norse mythology is kinda rushed, I know, but it'll suffice._

 _Three: Lutefisk is gross. I don't care about my heritage. It's nasty and the way Norway demonstrates here is how you avoid having to chew._

 _Four: The rehashing of Peer Gynt is understandably kinda campy. The parts of it I use is my favorite part, from the dairymaids to the Bøyg. It's not great and leaves a lot of loose ends, but I feel it serves its purpose well._

 _All that being said, try to enjoy this story._


	2. Chapter 2

_Musical selections:_

 _Island of the Anthropophagi- Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta, Mvt. 1 by Bela Bartok_

 _Land of the Centaurs- Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis by Ralph Vaughan-Williams_

* * *

The next morning seemed about normal. The sun was bright and the snow was fresh. All was well.

Norway threw open the curtains. "Good morning, Scandinavia!" he said cheerfully. This was greeted with groans, moans, and mumbled protests from his friends.

"Dear God, why?" Denmark said, burrowing his face into his pillow. "We were sleeping!" He then made the mistake of opening his eyes. The amplified sunbeams bouncing off of the snow hit Denmark square in eyes. "AAAARGH!" the sandy-haired one bellowed, clutching his traumatized optical sensors. "Denmark, for the love of whatever you pray to, shut up," came Sweden's muffled and very measured voice emanating from Åland's pillow. "I second," Iceland piped up, hugging a demon like a teddy bear and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The other two members of the party still slept through the ruckus, but not for much longer.

Åland's was gently shaken from slumber by his boyfriend. "Sweetie, we need your help," Sweden said. "Hmm?" came Åland's sleep-induced response as he fumbled for his glasses. He put them on (almost poking his eye out in the process) and looked at what Sweden was pointing to.

Finland was still very much asleep. The other Nordics didn't dare attempt to wake a slumbering Finn, for good reason (Denmark winced from remembering the last time they had; he hadn't been able to sit on a hard surface for weeks).

"Oh for Pete's sake. You just gotta do it like this." He shakily stood up, wobbling a little, standing over his cousin. Clearing his throat, he bellowed " _Herää, laiska paskiainen!"_ He then grabbed the emergency whistle from the first aid kit and blew; a piercingly shrill sound caused Finland to shoot out of bed and pin Åland to the ground, holding his previously latent knife to his throat.

"Now, do we really want to do something like that?" Åland growled, pushing Finland off of him. The other nation gave him a look of pure poison, then issued the same quintessentially Finnish glare to the rest of the group, as if suggested that messing with him would result in a meeting with the aforementioned knife.

"Alright, so we better be getting ready," said Norway, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had ensued. As Sweden and Åland started packing everything up, Finland came to Norway with a map. Using gestures, he indicated that he wanted to know where they were going next; Norway seemed to be the person to ask because a: he was the trip coordinator and b: because he was the most patient and easy to understand.

"We'll be going up this crest on the park's border," he said, using his finger to trace on the map, "and then going down into this valley. Hopefully, that'll be the place of our next checkpoint." Giving a single nod in assent, Finland went off to gather up his minimal gatherings.

Within one hour, they had assembled in front of the hiking lodge. Skis were on the feet of everyone minus Denmark; being the smallest, he could afford to ride in the sled that was being pulled by Norway. With that being said, they set off.

It was a gorgeous day, they had to admit. The blue sky seemed to expand without cessation; only in the far off distance could they see a wall of grey clouds. "Where's that cloud bunch hanging over, Norway?" Iceland said, pointing in the distance. "Russia," Norway joked. They all, especially Finland, had a good laugh at that.

As the crossed the ridge that Norway had mentioned to Finland earlier, a sudden cloud appeared in front of them, making it difficult to see. "Halt," Norway called, and everyone caught up to him: Iceland, then Sweden was next , then Åland, and finally Finland.

"This is here for a reason," Sweden declared.

"What makes you say that?" said Åland, frowning.

"It appeared out of nowhere. There was no forecast of clouds, nor did we see it elsewhere on the path. It has to be here on purpose."

"Norway," Denmark squeaked, "didn't you say that this was where Jotunheim used to be?"

"Yes, but we've scoured these mountains and haven't come up with anything," Norway said. Then he paused.

"However… they did notice strange things occurring here. Not huge, but very… out of the ordinary. Bizarre weather, enormous animals, other things of that paranormal ilk."

They continued to look at the cloud that was blocking their path. "So, what do we do?" Sweden said.

"We go through it," Iceland said. "Do you see any other way around it?"

"Iceland's right," said Sweden, although he definitely did not seem thrilled with that prospect. "We have to go through."

And so they did.

It seemed to go on forever, like they were stuck in purgatory, doomed to be skiing through a mysterious fog for all eternity. Then, the end appeared.

They emerged out of the clouds onto a small hill that stood in the middle of a small island. The sky was cloudy. A perpetual layer of mist hung over the ground, which was composed of mosses and a stubborn brown grass on a hard soil that seemed to be completely devoid of any nutrients that could be used to grow more complex vegetation than this. Or maybe potatoes.

They surveyed the extent of their new surroundings. It consisted little else other than the hill they now stood upon, looking thoroughly out-of-place. At the base, there was a tiny village of maybe ten houses. A pebbly and rocky beach sat on the shore, further down. They could make out a shoreline in the far distance, barely making that out through the overcast weather. What caught their attention, however, was the galleon parked on said beach. It was very old, and flew a ratty and mildew-spotted Unionsmerket that hung on by a thread.

"So, uh, any idea as to where we are?" asked Iceland. "The lack of snow, mountains, and blue sky suggests that we're not in Norway anymore."

"Our best bet is that village down there," Sweden said. "Maybe if we asked around?"

Every one of the huts appeared deserted. When they went in, a wretched smell would greet them, along with the skeletons and corpses of its former inhabitants.

They approached the only hut that appeared to be occupied. An old crone answered the door; she looked like some sort of witch doctor. She gave them an unnerving, toothy grin. "Oh, bless the gods!" she exclaimed. She looked incredibly frail, like she was about to keel over any moment. "With your help, the famine could be over!" An exchange of raised eyebrows took place amongst the Nordics. "Oh?" asked Sweden. "Yes, yes… come in, dears," she said warmly, beckoning them into her hut.

It looked ancient, and very rudimentary furniture dotted the single room. She arranged five chairs in a circle, than left. "Back in a moment," she said. "Just getting the seed."

Sweden looked about the room. It had a dirt floor, a sod roof, and walls made with dirt. Curiously, a flag hung on the wall, a large flag. It was a blue field with a white Nordic cross. Sweden didn't recognize that flag, so he made a mental note to research it later. If there was a later. And at that moment in thought, he noticed the crone messing around in a pit outside. "Hey, does anyone else have a feeling of foreboding?" he asked. "Something feels very askew."

"No duh," Denmark said. "We come through a mysterious cloud-portal to a remote island somewhere in the ocean where it's always cloudy and there's a rotting ship from the 19th century moldering on the beach. Frankly, I don't think we're panicking _enough_."

" _DENMARK, LOOK OUT!_ " Sweden suddenly screamed. Denmark ducked just the crone swung a mallet of some sort at Denmark's head. Now they were on the defensive. " _RUN!_ " Iceland yelled, and so they did. They ran for the beach; maybe the old ship could provide cover.

" _Sweden! Norway! Help! Somebody!_ " Denmark yelled. The crone had gotten hold of his foot and was dragging him towards the pit she had been digging earlier. Sweden and Norway were much too far to make a difference, and the other two speaking Nordics were busy hauling everything into the boat. When the Saga of Denmark appeared to be over, a loud _BLAM_ echoed through the world. The crone dropped dead, and while everyone was too stunned to speak, Finland, wielding a smoking hunting rifle, grabbed Denmark and hauled him over. "What are you waiting for?" he growled at the rest to their complete shock. "Get on the fuckin' ship!"

As they left the mysterious island via the only way off, the ship, like some kind of curse was lifted, suddenly returned to its former glory. "That was weird," Åland said. "I think that the whole thing was beyond weird," Norway said. Then Iceland came running down from the crow's nest (because of course he would be the only one willing to go up there). "You guys, the cloud is back!" That got everyone's attention. "Maybe we're going back home!"

"Or maybe we're not," Sweden said, emerging from below deck with a large, heavy book. "I've been reading."

"Of course you have," muttered Denmark.

"I think that we are in for something more than we bargained for," Sweden continued, momentarily throwing a nasty glare at Denmark. "This is the ship's log. You ought to read this."

They gathered around. The pages were blotchy with water damage, and they could only make out about 10% of the writing. It also didn't help that the entries were multilingual and in no specific pattern- a series of four would be in Danish, and then one in Finnish, and then three in Swedish, and then seven in Norwegian. But they were able to make out several pieces of crucial data, which was interpreted to them by Sweden.

"This is their first entry: 15 June, 1887. And this-" he pulled out a series of similarly heavy, large books- "is the last: 17 May, 1906." He went back to the first book, and started reading.

"26 September, 1887. We have successfully weathered the storm. The Swede and the Finn have managed to account for all damage- we have have lost all hands, save the four passengers, an Icelandic galley boy, and myself. We seem to have ventured into a cloudy, fog-ridden sea, no ocean I'm familiar with. Only a small, bleak island remains on the horizon." Sweden flipped through the rest of the entry. "That's all of the legible writing there is, but that's not what worries me." He flipped to the next entry, and gulped before reading.

"30 September, 1887. Gustav writing. We have successfully escaped from the Island of the Anthropophagi. Captain Meren-Kulkija is in his quarters; Arvo and Hans are trading off. We have done all we can; nothing can stave off the slow march of death. Niels is tending the wounds of the galley boy. Now, we only go off into the Mist that seems to be our guide…"

Sweden looked up and shared the same look of mild horror as the rest.

Denmark asked, "Several questions. One: What is, or are, Anthropophagi? Second: Is that Mist what it sounds like?"

"I have a feeling what an Anthropophagus is, and it may help to explain a lot. Also, yes, Denmark, I believe that is what we're heading into." At that moment, they emerged from said Mist, and found themselves back in Jotunheimen, with all of their stuff.

"All in favor of a lodge meeting?" Norway said.

Everyone rose their hand.

* * *

"All right, all right! Places, everybody!" Norway said, clapping his hands to call attention. They had assembled into probably the most informal lodge meeting every conducted. They were in sleepwear, eating the pelmeni that Finland had brought. Denmark was in the process of demolishing the beer supply, while Sweden had the entire volume of ship's logs, plus any other things he could find. Finland was polishing his knife while looking angrily at Åland.

"Sweden, the floor is yours," he said, sitting down. "Okay. So, I've been doing some translating. Here's what I've been able to gather."

"On the first entry, which was 15 June of 1887, Captain Lars Meren-Kulkija logged a crew of 25 hands. The ship was on its maiden voyage. The purpose of the ship was as a freighter, but also took minimal passengers. On this day, he commented on the arrival of four students, who were going to go to Stockholm for university: a Norwegian, a Swede, a Dane, and a Finn.

"Things started to go wrong almost immediately. On 20 June of 1887, a storm not experienced in centuries hit them as they left Bergen. It blew them completely off course." He thumbed through some of the parchments. "The storm didn't subside until almost a month later. At that point, they had sailed into an ocean that didn't appear on any map; they could only presume that they were floating adrift in the North Sea." More shuffling. "Than we get to the first contact. We had already heard what Captain Meren-Kulkija had to say, but I found something else." He pulled out a leather-bound tome in the same dimensions as a paperback novel. "When we arrived, I rooted around the bookshelf over there… and found this." He opened it and read the first page: "A Norse Odyssey. Compiled from the Ship Logs of the _Sjöman_ and the Personal Diaries of Niels of Norway, Hans of Denmark, Gustav of Sweden, Arvo of Finnish Russia, and Ástráðr of Ice-Land. Hmm," Sweden wondered out loud. "There's no Ålander." Åland shook his head. "Oh, yes there is. The captain."

"Lars is Swedish, that's for sure. But Meren-Kulkija? _Merenkulkija_ is Finnish for…" drawing a blank, he cued his cousin for the answer. Finland looked up, noticed the anticipating eyes of the audience, the cue of his cousin, and grunted, "Seafarer."

"With that, I think we can deduce that Captain Lars 'Seafarer' is an Ålander," Åland said proudly. "Imagine that! One of my own, from my tiny island, a sea captain!"

"Don't get your hopes up, sweetie," Sweden said gravely. "He dies first."

That brought Åland down to Earth like a meteorite.

Denmark raised his hand. "Um, Sweden? What exactly happened on the _Sjöman_?"

"After their encounter with the Anthropophagi, they landed on another island. This is where I got confused." Shuffling noises.

"Hold up," Iceland said. "You never did address what 'Anthropophagi' means."

"Cue scary music. Dim lights," Sweden said. A chilling violin tremolo of a minor second played while the lights dimmed just so. "How do you think he does that?" Denmark asked Norway, who shrugged in response.

"Do you remember the old grammar school we had to attend?" Sweden asked.

"Yeah. Sister Francis rapped my knuckles with a ruler until they bled for telling her to read the Small Catechism," Denmark said with not a little contempt.

"Yes, anyway, do you remember your Latin and Greek roots?" Sweden asked.

"You're joking, right?" Norway snorted. "I barely passed that class."

"That's because you spent class time doodling pictures of you and my sister holding hands in the corner of your parchment," Sweden deadpanned. "Anyway, do you know what the prefix 'anthro-' or 'anthropo-' means?"

"Doesn't that mean 'humans' or along those lines?" Denmark asked, scratching his head.

"Very good," Sweden remarked. "Now, this one is tricky. -phagus, -phage, -phagi."

That took much longer for people to figure out. There was a ponderous, heavy silence until Åland broke it. "It means 'to eat', doesn't it?" He said, very quiet. He had put the two together, as had the rest of the group. They were silent in horror.

"Yes, 'Anthropophagi' means 'human-eater'," said Sweden. "And, according to the book, there was a whole colony of them when they landed on this island 128 years ago. There was a battle in which they killed most of the Anthropophagi; the ones that lived through probably died due to famine. There are sketches," he said, passing the book around. Indeed, rough ink sketches of buildings, rooms, the people. The Anthropophagi were crude, barbaric-looking fellows, dressed in rags that they wore as cloaks and kilts. Once the book got around, Sweden returned. "The writer- I think it's the Swede- says that the Anthropophagi flew the flag of the Shetland Islands, so they presumed that was where they were." He clapped his hand to his forehead. "Of course! That's what that flag in the crone's hut was! I can't believe I didn't put those pieces together!"

"Going back to what I was asking," Denmark said, "What, exactly, happened next?"

Sweden smiled grimly. "Well, let's find out," he said, handing the book to Denmark. "It _is_ your turn tonight, _ja_?" Denmark gulped, nodded, and began to read.

* * *

The Isle of Anthropophagi had severely traumatized the remaining crew members. All but six were dead after the storm and the cannibals: Niels, Hans, Arvo, Gustav, Captain Meren-Kulkija, and Ástráðr the galley boy. The captain was in the process of dying after taking a nasty cut from a sword on his chest. Gustav had taken the helm of captain, and was creating a map of this new and utterly bizarre world.

From what he could attain on the crow's nest, they were now floating adrift in the Grey Sea, as he had called it; it was, indeed, a dull grey. Come to think of it, the sky was too, 24/7. There wasn't any sun or moon; just grey, cloudy sky. They kept time by looking at the ship clocks, which (miraculously) still worked.

Several days after the Anthropophagi, Captain Meren-Kulkija died. They did a short funeral rite, then threw his body overboard in tradition. "Well, what do we do now?" asked Arvo, eyeing the distant horizon. "We wait for the next land, and hope we don't die," Hans said, taking a drink.

Just then, as if God had heard them, they heard Ástráðr cry out, "Land! I see land!"

Rushing to the prow of the ship, they could indeed see a distant shore, but without any other traceable landmarks they were unable to determine how far away it was. Holding out a monoscope, Gustav said, "I think it's about 15 leagues or so. Can't be much closer than that."

 _October 7, 1887- Hans writing. We have spotted a distant shore, and have estimated its distance at 15 leagues. Only the good Lord knows what horrors- or blessings- await us in this new land._

After another four days of sailing, they woke up to the ship slamming into something; it rocked violently. The four compadres stirred. Another violent collision; this time they ran headlong into a rocky shore, throwing them from their beds.

They had landed upon a mysterious land. It was definitely bigger than the Island of the Anthropophagi; it wasn't even immediately apparent that it was an island. From what they could immediately ascertain it was covered in a dense forest; snowcapped mountains rose in the far distance.

They hadn't made it five meters from the ship when they were greeted by the denizens of the land they had arrived at.

"Who goes there?" called a voice from the forest; deep and authoritative.

"We are men from the North!" Hans yelled back. Gustav and Niels were supporting Ástráðr, who had his leg in a splint; he had gotten nailed by a slingshot back on the island. Arvo was standing beside Hans.

A centaur trotted out of the forest, joined by two smaller centaurs; all armed with bows. "I said, who are you? Not where you were from."

"And he said, we're men from the North," Arvo growled. "I'm Arvo. Hans, Gustav, Niels, Ástráðr," he said, pointing to them in kind. The centaur in lead kept his bow at the ready, but told his two supporters to back off. "I'm still not sure if they are to be entirely trusted," he said, "so we're taking them to Hovhaness." He turned around and said to the five, "Follow me. Do not think of taking up your arms. It would be unwise."

They walked through the forest. It was dark, tangled and thick; mists crept around the low roots. "Stay close," the tall centaur called. "It's not uncommon for individuals to go into this wood and not return."

Than the tone of the forest changed. It went from dark, dank, and murky to solemn, filled with light, and dry. They started to see villages cropping up throughout the wood, with centaurs emerging to gawk at the two-legged visitors. Soon, they approached the edge of the forest, and a valley opened up to them. In the vertex sat a magnificent city. The centaurs picked up their pace, and the five had to break into a jog to keep up.

They approached a magnificent gate wrought from a metal that none of the five had ever seen before; it seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it. Two centaurs the same size as their guide, bearing war helms and swords, opened the gate with assistance from creatures that the humans had never seen the likes of before; they resembled a cross between wolves and elk.

Hans was immediately smitten with this new land. It attracted him like a moth to a flame. This feeling was accentuated when they entered the centauri city. It was like Ancient Rome was transplanted to a Norwegian valley; high, snowy peaks rose on either side, with garrisons defending the vale.

"Call for the king," the centaur yelled to a page. The centaur ran into a large marble building that must've been the palace. "Enter," he said, pushing the five forward with the butt of a spear.

* * *

"The entry stops here," Denmark said.

"Aw!" Iceland pouted. "I want to know more about the centaurs!"

"Sorry, but that's all there is," the Dane continued. "Plus," he said, yawning, "I'm tired and we have an early start tomorrow. If we're truly living through this book, we'll find out soon enough."

And the lights went out…

* * *

 _The story I use from here on out is on that I created for an opera._


	3. Chapter 3

Morning came, and with it a pall of dread fell over our heroes. Even though the weather was the same as the previous day- bright, cold, and clear- they knew that they would have to face the same obstacles as their corresponding characters in Nordic Odyssey.

And it wasn't a subtle kind of fear. Each of the six friends were in varying states of fright, from Åland's fidgeting to Denmark's complete refusal to get out of bed. "I don't want to!" he said rather firmly. "I just _know_ that something's going to happen to us."

"Come off it, Denmark," said Iceland. "If what you read last night was any clue, today's going to be amazing."

"Don't count on it," grumbled Sweden. He then chucked the book at Denmark; the smaller nation squealed as it hit him in the head.

"What the fuck was that for, Sweden?" Denmark moaned.

"You read the wrong entry," Sweden snarled. "The centaurs are the next part!"

Everyone was quiet.

"So, what does that mean?" Norway said, worried.

"No centaurs!" Iceland bawled.

"It means that whatever we're experiencing today, we're going into it completely blindfolded," huffed Sweden. "I hope you're happy… _Dane Devil_." And he stomped off to the showers.

"Can't we have a vacation _without_ him losing it?" said Iceland. "It's not entirely Denmark's fault."

"No, but it really doesn't help that it happened," said Norway, who was assembling everyone's belongings in the sledge. "Like Sweden said, we are now not prepared for what will _actually_ happen."

"But isn't that the point?" Iceland gruffed, getting a little angry. "We shouldn't always be knowing the ending. We should instead take the adventure as it comes to us!"

"He has a point," said Åland as he was toweling off from his shower. "We have been sticking to the book, so to speak, and when something like this happens, we are caught off-guard. We should be less reliant on the book and sort of try to take it as it comes," he said, glaring at Denmark (who had started to snicker at the last five words). "Plus, I'm sick of going to these places. They're so... _token_. An island of cannibals, and an island of centaurs? You find those in _every_ voyage-gone-wrong story. I really hope that wherever we're going isn't so predictable."

As Sweden emerged from his shower, he still looked mad. "No, Norway, I'm fine," he muttered when the other nation had tried to offer him coffee. "Let's just go."

They didn't make it five feet out of the door when a fox slunk down from the hillside and perched itself in the vicinity of the path. "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," it said. The party halted. "Yes, I'm speaking to you, Norskie," the fox said, looking at Norway. He looked at the animal with a look that blended worry, insanity, and extreme joy. "Listen, unless you want to go somewhere that I assure you is very unpleasant, you must ditch that book you troopers hold so dear." Norway clutched the book closer. "We can't do that! It's our road map!" The fox shook his head. "There have been changes in the land. You of all should know." Sweden frowned. "Are you saying that this book and it's worlds are no longer open to us?" The animal nodded.

"Well, shit," said Denmark. "I think we should-" he was interrupted by a rustling. The fox had bolted, and upon turning around they noticed why.

The giant had heard noises too.

They kept dead quiet and still, as if they were actually dead.

Then Denmark started slipping.

"AGH! GUYS!" he screamed as he fell through the snow. The giant turned around to look at them, and he started to rumble over.

"Denmark? _Denmark?_ " Norway yelled down the new hole. No answer.

"Um, guys?" Iceland said, tugging at Sweden's shirt.

"Go down!" Sweden yelled, and jumped into the hole, everyone following suit.

It was very dark and deep.

* * *

When Åland regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the incredible pain he was in. He felt numb, but yet it was like being on fire- where you're numb to the pain but also suffer from it tremendously. For all he knew, he just broke every bone in his body. Breathing heavily, he subconsciously told his fingers to move. They did. He checked his other limbs and peripherals. All was okay, even though the burning sensation still raged. _Okay, so I didn't break anything and I'm not paralyzed,_ he thought. _So why am I on fire?_ The next thing he tried was feeling for his glasses, despite his hands being numb. Thankfully, he felt them there, and they seemed to be okay. Instinctively, he wiped them and tried to look at his surroundings.

What immediately came to mind first was 'dismal'. It was very grey, the type of grey where you feel that there's a distant light source but lots of fog is getting in the way. A layer of mist about an inch thick hovered above the ground, which was quickly ascertained to be rock. He also noticed that his entire front was coated in a red-orange grime that gave a burning sensation when touched. _So that explains that,_ he thought.

The next step was to ascertain his surroundings. As was mentioned before, it was very cold and very grey. It had a certain dampness to it, like that of a dim closet. At first he thought he was in a cave; it sure smelled and looked like one. And then he looked up to see the ceiling rocket several hundred feet into the air, like some sort of earthy, ancient temple blasted into the rock. But what kind of beings could have created such a chasm? Giants, like what they saw above? Or something… else?

He took a nervous step. The floor was rock, and it was wet with the same liquid that he found all over himself. Careful not to slip, he made his way across the very uneven, stony terrain for what seemed like miles. However, he felt that he wasn't getting anywhere, like he was going in circles. Faint screams pierced the air, and he prayed that they didn't belong to anyone he knew. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Ah, Sweden, thank God you're ok-" he halted abruptly as he put his hand on the other. It was cold as death. Turning around, he came face to face with a girl about his age. She had a very pale face, piercing eyes, and very, very black hair.

Åland screamed, and she put her finger to his lips. No sound came out. "Now, now Åland," she said in a very sweet voice. "There will be no need for that. Follow me, and you will find your friends. Eventually." Slowly, she took his hand into hers. He dropped to the ground in faint. She picked him up and started to walk.

* * *

For the second time today, Åland came to. This time, it was in a stunning palace. As he woke, several maids dressed in white came to present him with fresh cloth and freshly cleaned glasses. "Welcome to Eljudnir. Her Lady insists that you fully regain your strength," one of them said, pushing him back down with a considerably strong push. "We will return when it is time to see her." Åland nodded and fell asleep. It felt like five minutes when they came back in to tell him.

Entering the throne room of the palace, Åland was gaping. It was gorgeous. Everything was gilded in silver and gold, and it looked freshly polished. The only caveat, Åland felt, was that everything exuded death. And not in the "kill-you-if-it-touches-you" way, but in that awful, creeping, cold way.

At the head of the room was a magnificent lady. She was bedecked in armour of bone, and a helm of cold, bloodstained steel. She held a spear that DID emanate that "kill-you-if-it-touches-you" feeling. She had flowing curls of black hair, and her face was full of deadly imperial force. However, Åland did grimly admit to himself that she was a very attractive woman: sort of like Sister Sweden-meets-goddess-of-death. Or maybe that was just the appearance she gave.

"Hello, Åland," she said. Her voice was high and piercingly clear; it felt like the winter winds that Finland got. "Before you ask, I must welcome you to my realm." She blew open the palace doors to reveal the humongous cavern, but with millions of beings sedentarily wandering around. Screams and moans filled the air.

"Welcome to Helheim," she said. "I am Hel, Goddess of the Dead."

Åland knew right then that he was in for a very long day.

* * *

" _Åland? Norway?_ " Sweden called out, wandering the same vast cavern. He, too, had no idea where he was.

Now, Sweden is not normally the one to get scared (that honor belongs to Denmark, who, too, was nowhere to be seen), and he wasn't scared. He was frightened. He was sure he was suffering from a concussion and seemed to be doomed to wander. Whenever he tried to lay down on the rocks, he would cry in pain from the poison slathered on them. It drove him to insanity, so much so that he was prepared to end it right there. As he was about ready to ram himself through some nasty looking stalagmites, a bright figure shone in the distance.

"Who's there?" he called towards the source. No answer.

To the other side, Åland saw a haggard figure, recognizable only by the shirt that was now splotched with the same red-orange matter that he had fallen in himself. The figure's wore a pair of bent and shattered glasses, with a seriously bad cut on his head that stained his hair red.

"God, is that you?" Sweden wailed. He saw an imposing figure walk towards him, wearing white and holding a staff.

"Gandalf?" he asked.

"No, just your boyfriend," Åland said, grabbing Sweden before the other could reach the ground in a faint. He had just put him in a fireman's carry when a familiar voice cried out, "Wait! I have one dead!"

Åland stopped in his tracks and turned around to see a stumbling Norway, carrying a limp figure in his arms.

A figure that looked all too familiar.

Åland's stomach lining seemed to give in to the hydrochloric acid that made him want to reel over in pain.

"He didn't stand a chance," Norway said, his voice cracking. "He hit his head directly on the rocks. There was nothing I could do." Åland resisted looking at Denmark, but it was too compelling in a macabre sort of way.

Denmark looked very at peace. Aside from his matted, bloody, and sopping wet hair, it almost looked like he had just taken a nap and didn't wake. Åland took pulses, which confirmed the grim news. They had lost at least one for sure; the whereabouts of Finland and Iceland had yet to be determined.

"Let's go," Åland declared. "I know a haven." And they walked, each with their most important other in their arms.

* * *

Sweden's eyes opened. At first he could see but blurs, so he instinctively reached for his glasses. One problem: his glasses seemed to not be present. This immediately put him on high alert, and he shot up. A very firm hand pushed him back down. "Rest," said an unfamiliar voice, soft yet very authoritative. He duly did as he was told.

He felt something very cold being placed on his face. Waking, he could see. His glasses! Turning, he saw the familiar smiling face of his sweetheart.

"Hello, precious," Åland said.

Without saying a single word, Sweden grabbed him and kissed him, taking Åland by surprise. After breaking, Sweden said, "I'm so happy to see you." Åland made an expression that told Sweden that not all was well. That much he could ascertain: Where were they? But first:

"What happened?"

"There's been an accident," Åland said, voice cracking. Sweden's stomach churned.

"What. Happened?"

Åland refused to look him in the eye.

"Åland, tell me."

After a pause, he quietly said, "Denmark's dead."

Sweden couldn't believe it. He _wouldn't_ believe it. Denmark? _Dead?_ No. It had to be some cruel prank that the smaller nation was pulling. No way could he be dead.

"Sweetie, it's true," Åland said, beckoning Sweden to see for himself.

Sweden marveled at the ornate palace, and wondered aloud, "I wonder who lives here?"

"You'll meet her in due time," Åland said. "But first, we must pay our respects."

They moved across the Great Hall to a small, marble room where the grey fog outside gave everything a very ghostly air.

In the corner sat Norway, who was also given the royal treatment. His eyes were bloodshot. His blonde hair was fraying. He looked like he himself was getting sick.

On a marble table lay Denmark, in traditional Viking burial fashion: His head had been cleaned, and a crown of iron had been placed on it. He grasped a large sword that lay on his body.

"With his sword and crown," Sweden said, marveling at the handiwork taken to present their friend in a dignified manner. "He was such a little frizzle, and yet I subconsciously know that he would want this." Sweden noticed the corners of Denmark's mouth were slightly up. "He even died with a smile on his face, the dumbass. But he was _our_ dumbass, and my friend in the end, I suppose."

The emotion came suddenly, as he remembered that there would be no more drinking contests, rude awakenings, awkward moments with him fondling Norway every two seconds, and, probably the most damaging, no constant laughter.

He had not realized until that moment how critical Denmark's goofiness was to the overall morale and construction of the group. With his demise, Denmark had perhaps fatally unbalanced the Scandinavians. The others were not so keen on him as they were Denmark, which led to the horrible thought of who was going to lead the group: him or Norway.

But he set that aside for a different time. Now was not the time to start planning the carving-up of Denmark's estate. Now was the time for remembrance.

"I know his loss means a great deal to you," came a new voice. It was Hel, although Norway and Sweden had yet to meet her. Norway's face acquired a certain look of fear, like a cornered animal or perhaps a bug, knowing that this being had the ability to end its life right then and there.

"And who might you be?" Sweden asked. She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye, and he recoiled.

"I am Hel, one of the Fate Children of Loki and Angrboda," she said reproachfully. "And I would be careful, Sweden, as to whom you address with casual tones. I could breath on you and kill you." He felt engaged to this tantalizing voice, full of such clarity and yet greater power than anyone they knew.

"I am the Goddess of Death, ruler of Helheim, which is where you are now. All souls who do not die honorably in combat come here, either to wander aimlessly for eternity or suffer in Nastrond if they were wicked. Through the decrees of Odin, all must pass through me eventually, so I am in effect the Empress of Yggdrasil and the Nine Realms. I am a being of incredible power, and you are living beings in the realm of Death. I would tread lightly if I were you." And with that, she swept out of the chapel.

"Can we at least be at liberty to ask you a few questions?" Sweden called. Hel reappeared and glowered at him. "What?"

"We had two other companions. Can you tell us if they are here as well?"

"No," she said firmly.

"Why not?" Sweden pouted.

"Watch your tone," Hel said. "And I meant that they are not here. I do not know where they are, because they lie beyond my realm of sight." Then she changed from solemn to almost frightened. She said, "Wait. I see one. He has landed in…" She faltered.

"Where? Who?" Norway asked, standing up.

"Iceland," she said. "He is connected to the World Tree, but tenuously. He is on an enchanted island." A sickening grin spread across her face. "He will not be leaving alive."

Norway got angry. "Now, that's no fair! We should have a chance to rescue him, and our other!"

"Death isn't fair," Hel said.

"Oh, stop spouting clichés," Åland grumped. "I've had enough of those."

"Fine. I'll give you three tasks," Hel relented. "Upon the completion of each, you shall receive a reward. Is that enough for you?"

"Yes. Now, what is our first task?"

Hel thought for a moment, then said, "I need fire and ice from the Realms of Muspelheim and Niflheim, respectively. Given your heritage, I don't suspect you'll have much trouble with that. Now, be gone!" And with that, the three suddenly found themselves in Sweden's house.

"Well, what the hell do we do now?" asked an enraged Åland.

"We research, or we may never see our other friends again," Sweden said solemnly.

And they started.

* * *

 _And switch!_

 _Told you that Norse mythology was going to show up later!_

 _And this isn't based on anything. I'm just going on what I want to now._

 _Hel is one of my favorite deities, for reasons you will see later. But Helheim is one of the overlooked areas of the Norse world- where you go if you DIDN'T die in honorable combat, hence the reason that the people who should've known about it (Norway, Sweden) didn't recognize it immediately._

 _The purists will remind me that Baldr resides in Helheim as well in some iterations of the tale as Hel's lieutenant or even lord, but I'm simplifying it for time's sake._

 _Sorry for taking so long. I was working 145 miles away the entire summer and didn't really get the chance to write much. I'll probably get back to work on a regular schedule now._

 _Keep reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

Finland woke in the midst of a desert. Kind of an odd place to the peon, but to Finland, it was sending a very dangerous vibe through his mind. He was well-versed in his own old culture as well as the classics, and he knew exactly what this meant.

Standing up and shaking off the sand, he started to walk. Fortunately, he knew that the desert wasn't too large. Unfortunately, he knew that the journey out of it was going to take a while. And it did. What seemed like months went by. He got his water through improvised solar stills and digging trenches in the sand with the butt of his rifle, making a shade with the rifle and his parka. After exhausting his emergency rations that he _always_ had with him, he knew that it wasn't going to be much longer before hunger, thirst, and exhaustion set in. It had killed many mortals who dared make the journey before him, and he knew that he himself was not invincible.

What did catch him by surprise was a banshee shriek that emanated from seemingly nowhere. This was not part of the journey, he thought. It floated on the air for a good long time, and it deeply unsettled him. Only after a bit did he realize that it wasn't a scream, but an extremely high soprano voice. He barely made out words:

 _Danska ríki hefur farist! Eilífu er rautt og hvítt borði!_

It was Icelandic, which thoroughly confused Finland. Then, it sounded again:

 _Danska ríki hefur farist! Eilífu er rautt og hvítt borði!_

And it faded into silence. After standing there for a few minutes, expecting something, Finland sighed and resumed his grim march towards Death.

He arrived on the edge of a vast forest. The temperature dropped and the sun seemed to disappear in favor of fog. A twisting uncleared path began and wound its way through the solemn pines. Taking a deep sigh, he made his way.

* * *

" _Where were you guys?_ "

Sister Denmark's voice was heard before its source was seen. Suddenly, a blur of red and blonde burst into the kitchen and floored Norway. "Do be careful, Denmark, he's head's been through a lot," Åland said as she grabbed Norway's face to make sure he was real. "Yeah, well, we've been through a lot!"

Sweden crossed his arms. "Oh? How so?" He normally wasn't this touchy, but the latest events had taxed his patience considerably.

"Well, for starters, we've given up on you," she began. "Or, rather, we had. Norway and Sweden are still scouring Congo's basement, and I think Finland and Iceland are doing some sort of seance. I let them know you're here, but I don't know how quickly they can get here."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" said Norway, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. "Denmark, we've been gone for five days."

She looked at him with an insane look. "You were gone for four months."

Sweden paled. Åland nearly toppled over. Norway started hyperventilating.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said, noticing their extremely bemused state. "Now, on to the real questions. Where are-" She was brutally interrupted by Iceland and Finland crashing into the living room, completely out of breath.

"As I was asking, where are the others?" Sister Denmark asked, glaring out of the corner of her eye at the two Nordics.

"We know the answer," Sister Iceland said, catching her breath and looking slightly less red.

"Well?" Denmark asked impatiently.

"You might want to sit down," Sweden said, motioning to the living room.

* * *

Finland was taking a rest break along a river. This would not have been out of the ordinary, except that the river was pure black and showed no signs of life, except for a single solitary swan that was gliding about the surface. He knew that he was close, and yet he wanted to pause and soak in the grandeur that surrounded him. Massive, snow-capped mountains rose and formed a formidable wall that cut him off from the north to the southeast; the river (and the land beyond) formed the western half, and the southeast-to-south portion was the trail he just came on, and it led back to the desert. He was forced to continue, and that's precisely he was resting. It had just rained, and the air was saturated with that refreshing smell of fresh things. He knew it would be the last time he could enjoy such things.

As he sat and reflected on his life, he mused. It was much in the same vein of Sweden's thoughts earlier. The fineries in life would not be available to him- saunas, vodka, laughter, snow, and, most importantly, friends. Finally, he decided that he was going to beat the odds, defeat the Hero's Curse, and return alive. No mortal had escaped since the Curse. _Until now_ , he thought. Vocalising _Finlandia_ , he marched onward through the rain, determined.

* * *

The rain had settled in over Stockholm, and it was deadly quiet inside Sweden's house. Everyone save Sister Denmark was huddled around the central fire pit, huddled with one another. But for one, it had gotten to be too much.

Norway excused himself to the outside area. He didn't mind that it was raining. He sat on the bench overlooking the Baltic Sea that he and Denmark often sat on, getting soaked to the bone. But for Norway, this was cleansing. It made everything smell good. The air was becoming clean and cold, and soon he would be able to focus on his emotions. He was soon joined by another individual.

"You too, huh?" said Sister Denmark. She was even wetter than he was; her red-and-white shirt had darkened to a maroon. It was obvious she had been crying. Her eyes were red. "Yeah," Norway replied. She sat down next to him. "It's just hard to believe. Gone, like that. It could've been me. It could've been…" he faltered as he searched for words that did not dare show themselves. He felt Sister Denmark's arm reach around him as he buried his face in his hands. "I know, I feel the same way," she said. "I've never suffered loss like this. It feels like my world is collapsing."

She looked into his eyes, and he could tell that she was in the midst of a big emotional collapse, like the landslide before the volcanic eruption. "Norway, I don't know what I'm going to do with all of these new responsibilities. I'm now in charge of Christiania and his welfare. I'm now the leader of the Nordic Council. All of the jobs usually taken by my brother are now shunted onto me. It's too much. It's just too much. Norway, help me."

"Look, Denmark, if you weren't competent I think that someone would've said something by now," Norway said. "But nobody has, which I would take as an affirmation of support. You can do this. Make your brother proud." She smiled a little, then leaned in and kissed him. As she went inside, Norway stuck around, looking off into the distance, hoping that the universe had a rewind button.

"Alright, everybody," Sister Denmark said, clearing her throat. A very downtrodden group of nations gazed up at her. "I'm taking effective control of the Nordic Council and calling an emergency session in Copenhagen."

"When?" asked Sweden. "Two hours," said Sister Denmark. "Iceland, can you grab Greenland and Faroes?" Sister Iceland nodded.

"Great. Let's go into this strong," Sister Denmark declared.

* * *

" _Order!_ " yelled Sister Denmark. Everyone stopped talking.

"Great. First order of business: roll call. We have Norway, Sweden, Greenland, Faroes, Åland, and myself present. Iceland and Finland are represented by their sisters. Next order of business: report from Sister Iceland."

"Mm. Yes. So, I communed with the gods the other day, as you may know by now," said Sister Iceland with a breathtakingly matter-of-fact tone. "The current situation is not looking terribly good. Hel currently possesses Denmark's remains, and she says there's a possibility of reanimation if we complete her task."

"And what would that be?" Greenland muttered.

"We have to collect fire from Muspelheim and water from Hvergelmir, in Niflheim," Sweden said. "Although how to get to those locations is beyond me and my sight."

"She said that to find the entrances to both realms, we need to think about what the realms would correspond to here on Earth," Sister Iceland explained. "So where on Earth could Muspelheim be?"

"If we follow the Greeks and Romans, it could be Mt. Etna," Norway suggested. "That's where Hephaestus's forge was said to be."

"First off, what is Muspelheim?" Faroes asked, thoroughly confused.

"The Norse realm of fire," answered Åland, to Sweden's bemused face. "Yes, sweetie, I did my homework. Likewise, Niflheim is the realm of ice. Hvergelmir is the primal spring, located in an isolated corner right above Helheim."

"I see," said Faroes, even though he looked more confused. "So this realm of fire… is it like Hell?"

"No," said Sister Iceland. "That's Helheim, which is very cold, dank, and grey. Muspelheim is still a very unpleasant place, and one does not simply-"

"-walk into Muspelheim," completed Faroes. "Honest to God, Iceland, show you Lord of the Rings once and you start spouting lines like some sort of-"

"Okay, girls, not here, not now," Sister Denmark yelled. They quieted down. "Now, any other ideas where the realms might be on Earth?"

"Hekla," Sister Finland stated plainly. Everyone stared.

"By god, Finland, you're right," Norway exclaimed. "Why didn't I see it before?"

"Okay, then. I'll need a task force to devise a plan to obtain fire from Muspelheim by… how about lunchtime tomorrow? Who can I get on that?" Sister Denmark asked. Sister Iceland and Faroes raised their hands, with promises to ask others upon getting home. "Good, good," she said. "Next order of business: where are Iceland and Finland?"

"I was able to pinpoint my brother's location," Sister Iceland reported again. "It doesn't look good. He's on an island in the middle of a black, oily sea. It's attached to the World Tree, but tenuously and it's home to a horror. His name is Fenrir."

Norway and Sister Denmark paled. Sweden started fidgeting.

"I'm sorry, that name didn't come up in my research," Åland said. "Who might that be?"

"Fenrir is a monstrous wolf," Sister Iceland explained. "He started out as a cute and cuddly puppy, but certainly didn't end that way. The war god Tyr can thank Fenrir for the stub that is his arm."

"And Finland?" Sister Denmark said, sounding a little sick.

"No idea. He's not on the World Tree, nor any plane," Sister Iceland replied.

"Did my brother just… _blip out existence?_ " Sister Finland asked, furious.

"No, he's definitely alive," Sister Iceland said. "Just _where_ is the question at hand."

Suddenly, with a large _crack_ , Finland materialised on the table. "Olen vain saa olla täällä jonkin aikaa! Sisar, se on Tuonela! Kävelin aavikon halki ja saapuivat joen!" he told his sister. He was covered in something awful and black. She was about to ask him what the hell he was talking about when he disappeared again.

"So, that happened," Norway deadpanned. "I'm getting coffee."

Sister Finland was still agape at the place where her brother had been. The look on his face had been one she had never seen on him. It was a look of sheer terror and pleading.

"What the hell was that 'bout?" Sister Denmark asked Sister Finland.

"He's in Tuonela," she replied, sounding dead inside.

"He's _where?_ " Faroes again piped up.

"Tuonela. The Finnish Land of the Dead."

"Oh," he said, sounding very small.

"And how are _we_ supposed to get him out of there, dare I ask?" Sister Iceland asked, folding her arms.

"There's only one other who can venture there with me," said Sister Finland, looking at the table.

"Who?" wailed Sweden.

Sister Finland sighed. "I was really hoping not to drag her into this…"

Norway went pale. "No. You can't mean… _her!_ "

Sister Finland grimly nodded. "She's the only other one."

"Do what you must," Sister Denmark said, sounded defeated. "I call the meeting adjourned. I expect a full roll call tomorrow at lunchtime."

* * *

The next day brought a certain air of disaster.

"First order of business: roll call," Sister Denmark droned. "We have Norway, Sweden, Åland, Sister Iceland, Sister Finland, myself (Sister Denmark) presiding, Greenland, Faroe Islands, and-"

"-and Estonia!" came an ebullient voice, followed by a girly shriek.

"So it begins," groaned Sister Iceland.

"Alrighty. Did everyone get some food from the kitchen already? Good. Faroes and Sister Iceland, do you have a strategy for Muspelheim?" Sister Denmark said, marking down roll.

"If by 'strategy', you meant 'half-baked ideas', than yes, we do," Faroes grumbled.

"Can you present it to the Council?"

"So the plan involves two individuals to mount Hekla and capture some lava flow. Than, a quick prayer should send it to Hel straightaway," Sister Iceland said.

"And who would these two individuals be?" Sister Denmark asked, even though she knew full well what the answer was.

"Why, Faroes and myself," Sister Iceland said happily. All eyes turned to Faroes, who was visibly miserable.

"Hey, I'm only doing it as a special favor for her since I didn't host her prime minister that one time," he said.

Sister Denmark raised an eyebrow. "Okay, then. Thank you. Next up we have plans to get to Niflheim?"

"We didn't even discuss _where_ Niflheim might be," Sweden said, raising an eyebrow.

Sister Denmark shrugged. "Any ideas?"

"Could be anywhere," Åland said. "Samiland, Siberia, Greenland."

"Hey!" exclaimed Greenland.

"Sorry, pal, but it's true."

"What about Quebec?" Sister Iceland proposed.

"Why do you say that?" asked Sweden.

"Didn't the Vikings discover Canada? Who knows? Maybe Hudson's Bay or near there is the key to discovering the realm of ice."

"She could be correct," Sister Denmark said, "but we should make sure before we do any more actions. Could someone contact Canada?"

"I'll get on that," said Sweden.

"Thanks, Sweden," Sister Denmark said. "We got some people to save."

* * *

 _So here's the deal._

 _1\. Tuonela is the Finnish Land of the Dead. It's said to be surrounded by a vast desert, then a forest. It's guarded by a maiden and a swan (this "Swan of Tuonela" is the same swan immortalized in Jean Sibelius's tone poem of the same name)._

 _2\. Muspelheim and Niflheim are the two primal realms, the first in the creation of the universe._

 _3\. I'm going to be toying with a couple of different ships throughout this story. Be warned._

 _4\. Estonia's role will become apparent next chapter._

 _Keep reading._


	5. Chapter 5

"So what are we supposed to be doing, again?" Faroes asked Sister Iceland. "We're bottling up some lava from Hekla," she replied. "Now put this gear on, or you'll fry into a crisp."

Faroes sighed as he clumsily got himself into the heavy duty pants and jacket she had provided. "This whole thing is stupid," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" she said in a tone that suggested possible violence.

Faroes yelled, "We're going to a volcano, pretending that it's some mythological realm, just to appease some goddess who's not even real, all to possibly reanimate the corpse of my oppressor. It's all a bunch of _horseshit!_ "

Sister Iceland was not one to get mad. Indeed, it had been a trait of her and her brother. But what this impudent colony was saying was too much for her. She roared and raised her hand to strike him. Faroes yelped and hid. She came to her senses. She couldn't hit someone, much less someone who was weaker. _He's just prone to anger,_ she thought. _Let's not overreact._

"Faroes, I'm sorry. Please come back out," she called. He emerged from the shadows, looking very repentant, and got his protective clothing on without a fuss. She wondered if… _nah,_ she thought. _That's too personal._ She grabbed a metal Mason jar from the kitchen cupboard. "Hold onto this," she said. "Please don't lose it."

They exited out the back and walked a bit until Hekla appeared on the horizon. The largest volcano on the island, it wasn't necessarily hard to spot, especially with the lava pouring out of it.

"So, that's where we have to go?" Faroes whimpered.

"Yep," said Sister Iceland. "Stop being such a baby and hand me that Mason jar."

As they approached the mountain, the world surrounding them shifted out of focus, and they found themselves on another world entirely. It was a hot, fiery, and hellish world. A large city carved out of black rock formed before their eyes. Sister Iceland saw the utter terror in Faroes' eyes. "Welcome to Muspelheim," she said.

* * *

Canada looked at his clock. It read 6:14 in the morning, and yet the knocking was getting more and more frequent. "Who in the heck is knocking at this hour?" he asked himself as he opened the door. And there was Sweden in a parka, standing on his doorstep.

Canada squinted. "Sweden? Is… is that _you?_ "

Sweden nodded grimly. "May I borrow a moment of your time?"

"It's 6 am!"

"I know, but it's important."

Canada relented. "Come, sit."

Sweden sat down at the kitchen table. "Got any coffee?" he asked. Canada glared at him reproachfully.

"Sweden, I just woke up! Don't come into _my_ house and start demanding coffee!" Canada reprimanded. Sweden held up his arms in surrender. A teenage voice called from upstairs. "Papa, qui est-ce?"

"It's only Sweden," Canada said. "Go back to sleep, Quebec. Sorry for yelling." A door closed. "Aye-yay-yay," Canada groaned. "So, what _are_ you here for?"

"Well, I'm wondering if any of those old Viking settlements you found happened to be near a polar region of any kind," Sweden said. Canada squinted suspiciously. "Why?" he asked testily. "Did you lose something?"

Sweden fidgeted. "It actually might be better to answer the question and not ask them," he said. Canada yawned. "That's a question for Newfoundland," he said. "I can give you directions to his place." Thanking him for the botherance, Sweden left to visit Canada's lost province.

After driving for two hours through the most desolate landscape Sweden had ever seen this side of Siberia, he arrived at a cliff's edge. Parking the car and peering over the edge, he saw a tiny village built on a shoreline that probably totaled about a square mile, sandwiched between the cliff and the Atlantic Ocean. A narrow and slick staircase carved out of the cliff descended down for what seemed like a couple hundred feet.

 _He can't be serious,_ Sweden thought, grimacing.

Regardless, he braced himself, pulled on his boots, and began climbing down. It took a while due to him crawling backwards on his hands and knees, but he finally reached the bottom.

The village looked like it was home to a hundred people and the village dog. Sweden wasn't necessarily a fish out of water- this bore a strong resemblance to some of Norway's forgotten fishing villages- but his combed hair, glasses, parka, decent pants, and hiking boots definitely contrasted with the general _de facto_ dress code of galoshes, rubber overcoats, flannel (so much flannel) and denim jeans. A small fishing fleet sat in the degenerate harbor, and the boats looked as if they hadn't been fixed up since the province became a part of Canada in 1949.

He wandered around the town, marveling at the houses. There was a post office, a tiny grocer's that sold mostly canned goods, a pub, and a tiny cannery. The houses were in the Irish-coast-fishing-village style. Sweden figured that the best place to look first would be the pub, giving that the rain _was_ blowing sideways and it was a fishing town.

As he walked in, the first thing that hit him was the atmosphere. It was a small pub, but was packed with people. He went up to the bar. The tender was a rugged sort, and bore a resemblance to Svalbard. "How you gettin' on, cocky?" he asked with a bellicose laugh. "Could I have a pint, please?" Sweden asked. He gave a solid nod and poured Sweden a glass.

"Ye new 'ere, b'y?" the tender asked. "Um… yeah," Sweden volunteered. "So, where h'are ye from, now? Well, I reckon that's a stupid quest'in. Yer from Canada, aren'cha? Yea, ye are, right. $4.50." Sweden laid the cash on the counter and proceeded to drink his beer when the bartender let out an exclamation. "Well, I be damned!" he said, fingering the coins. Sweden, without thinking, had giving 4 ½ kroner, not Canadian dollars. "This ain't mainlan' money, ain't it, b'y?"

Sweden gulped. "No, sir, it's not."

"Then wer' _h'are_ ye from?" the tender asked.

"My name is Sweden," he replied.

"God in 'eaven! _Oy, b'y!_ " he yelled towards the crowd. "We got ourselves a 'onestegaw _Vikin'!_ " Excited murmur skipped around the bar. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm looking for somebody," Sweden asked quietly as he replaced the 4.50 kroner with 28, which was the proper amount.

"Well, who ye lookin' fer?" he responded.

"Newfoundland."

" _OY! NEWFIE!_ " the tender bellowed. A Scottish-Irish-looking fellow stood up. " _THIS VIKE WANTS TE TALK TE YE!_ "

Newfoundland came over. "Whadd'ya at, b'y?" he said, shaking Sweden's hand. Noting the blank expression, he instead said, " 'ow ye doin', b'y?"

"Ah," Sweden said. "I'm okay, thank you. Is there a discreet location we could talk?" Newfoundland nodded.

"Have you seen anything… out of the ordinary at your old Viking town?" Sweden asked. Newfoundland took a pull from his ale. "Lance-o Med-o? Haven't been there in h'ages. I could give you a ride over to the rock next morn' if ye wants." Sweden frowned. "We're not on the island right now?" The fisherman shook his head and pointed out the window to a mass of land across the water. "Thar's the rock," he said. "This here's Lab'dor, hence Lab'dor bein' the tender an' all." The burly man at the bar waved. "So we're on Labrador?" Sweden asked, confused. "Eh, b'y," Newfoundland said. "See, this here terra'try is'n two parts. Lab'dor is on the mainlan', tha's the firs' part. Newfoundland, the rock, is the other part."

"Newfie's visitin' from Sin Jinn's for the day," Labrador declared. "And I do reckon that this calls for gettin' on the go! Pints on the house!" A loud mass of cheering ensued. "Is there a place that I could bed down for today?" Sweden asked. Newfoundland, understanding the newcomer's slight claustrophobia, escorted him out.

In a room on the other side of town, Sweden made his calls.

"Where are you at?" Sister Denmark yelled. "We've been worried that something happened."

"I'm in some fishing town on the coast of Labrador," Sweden yelled back. Commotion was occurring on the other end.

" _Where?_ "

"Labrador!"

"Like the dog?"

"Yeah."

"What in the name of Thor are you doing there? I thought you were talking to Canada!"

"Canada was tired and didn't know, so he devolved the responsibility to the person who would know. So Newfoundland's taking me over to his island tomorrow to investigate."

" _Where?_ "

" _Newfoundland!_ " Sweden said angrily.

"Like the dog?"

Sweden sighed with exasperation. "Yes, Denmark, like the dog."

"What's on Newfoundland?"

"L'Anse aux Meadows. The only excavated Norse village on this side of the Atlantic." Silence on the other end. "Okay, good luck," she said, and hung up. Sweden sighed, then collapsed on his bed, exhausted.

* * *

Iceland woke from his nap. It had been a very strange nap. "Woo, boy," he yawned. "That was weird. There were white trees and black grass and a giant-" He looked up to see a very large mouth filled with the biggest, whitest teeth known to man. "WOLF!" he yelled, startled.

"Yes, young warrior," Fenrir said, smiling. "I am a wolf. I hope you know my name?"

"Fenrir, Odin's bane," Iceland said, gasping for breath.

"Good," Fenrir said. "I like it when people have fear before I eat them." He lunged at Iceland, but he was ready for him. Next thing he knew, Fenrir was smarting from a punch to the jaw. He growled and glared at Iceland, who was armed with several demons, lava, and a killer smile. "Now, wolf, we could fight this out. Or we could just agree to an existence where we stay out of each other's sight. We both hate the other." Fenrir laughed a booming laugh. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I have spirits of Múspellsheimr at my immediate command," Iceland declared. "As well as the power of flame!" Fenrir laughed again. "Your powers are a joke! Young warrior, have you heard of a fellow named Surtr?" Iceland pretended to look thoughtful. "Surtr? Is he big, tall, a fire giant? The eventual destroyer of Yggdrasil?" Fenrir gave a nod. "That's right, young one. He and I are good friends!"

"How about that?" Iceland snarled. "Well, I'll have you know that Surtr is my _bitch, and you're about to join him!_ " And before Fenrir could say anything, Iceland unleashed hellhounds on him. Although they were much smaller than he was, their flames and biting hurt a lot. The howling could probably be heard from Asgard. Knowing that Fenrir was bonded, Iceland recalled the demons after what he deemed a proper amount of time. As Fenrir licked his wounds, Iceland glared at him coldly. "Don't fuck with me again, got it?" he said. Fenrir got the message.

Iceland struck out into the forest. He made camp using natural debris, and hunted with a knife that he had on him. He posted demons to watch Fenrir and make sure that they both acknowledged the truce.

When he was bored, he scouted the island, eventually reaching the tallest point on the island. He could see one end, where Fenrir was sleeping. On the other side, the island expanded into a large tract of forest and other environments. He saw his camp, which was only a few hundred yards away from Fenrir, even though it seemed so much further. The sun had set by this point and the night sky had assumed its primal role. Iceland was astounded by the detail he was able to see. _Well, when you have no light pollution for forever, I guess that puts you at an advantage,_ he thought.

He breathed in and out, and started to think.

 _I wonder where the others ended up. Hopefully not somewhere awful. Denmark's probably screaming his head off. Sweden's reprimanding him while Norway tells Sweden to lay off. Åland is petting Sweden and Finland's threatening everyone with a knife. Yeah, like that._

 _I wonder how I got here. I was falling, and then BAM! I wind up here. Huh. Did I hit the side? Maybe I made accidental contact with something and got transported here. Who knows. All I have to do know is avoid any contact with that literal bitch over there and we'll all be fine._

All of a sudden, a figure materialized from thin air. She was astonishingly beautiful, with long blonde hair. She was not a ghost, but a very _physical_ reality.

"Well, hello," Iceland said.

"Hello, Iceland," she said. Her voice was that of a young girl, but piercingly cold.

"And who might you be? I doubt I'll be surprised after today."

She laughed. "Oh, Iceland! You know who I am! Is it not clicking?" He shook his head.

"My name is Freyja."

"Oh. OH," he said, quickly realizing what was going on. Scrambling up, he bowed in respect. Freyja laughed. "No need to do that, dear," she said. He sat down. "Oh, I remember when you were a rough-and-tumble Viking. And then you just…"

"Disappeared?" he said, feeling a pang of guilt.

"Yeah," she said, sitting down next to him.

"So, why are you here? You're not going to try and convert me, are you?" he asked.

"Odin thought you might need a companion," she said, smiling. "You're going to be here a while."

"I am?"

"You're on the middle of an island floating in outer space, tenuously connected to Yggdrasil. I'm astonished that you survived at all after encountering Fenrir, much less beating him. You've impressed many, including me," she said.

"Why, thank you," he said. "I'm flattered."

"My pleasure," she said, beaming. "Now, I assume you're wondering where your friends are." He nodded. Her smile vanished.

"Iceland, they fell into Helheim."

He paled- at least, as much as he could- and was swept by dread.

"Åland, Norway, and Sweden made it out. They're working with the sisters and as many people as they can."

"What happened in Helheim?"

The goddess remained quiet.

"Freyja? What happened?"

She said, "Åland, Sweden, and Norway got lost for a while."

Iceland felt a pit in his gut, but pursued his question. "Freyja, what happened to Finland and Denmark?"

"Finland also disappeared. Nobody knows where he went."

"And Denmark?"

She paused, then said with measured calm, "He died, Iceland. He hit his head on the rocks."

Iceland hadn't felt so sad in a while. He felt the tears immediately. "I could use that companionship right about now," he said. Freyja smiled with sympathy and comfort. "I'm sorry, Iceland, but I'm not that companion. She'll be here soon. As for your other friends, they made it out after a bargain with Hel."

"Hel doesn't bargain," he said miserably. "What did she say?"

Freyja grimaced. "She said that if the Nordic countries brought her flame from Muspelheim and water from Hvergelmir, she could raise Denmark."

"I have a feeling it's a trick," he said, "but anything is game. Did she say anything about me or Finland?"

"She alluded to two other challenges, but didn't say what they were for," she said, "but I wouldn't lose hope. For one, your sister knows where you are and has disclosed it to the others. Now they're focused on finding Finland and getting those elements."

"Muspelheim has a portal near Hekla."

"And your sister has located it," she said. "She's there right now with Faroe Islands."

"Poor Faroes," he said, chuckling.

"Niflheim is proving a little tricky. Sweden is currently in Newfoundland and Labrador."

Iceland nodded grimly. "L'Anse-aux-Meadows. He's a smart man."

"They love you very much, Iceland."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Really?" asked Freyja with curiosity. "If they didn't, why would your sister spend months alone, communing with me, trying to find you?" With a wave of her hand, he saw his sister at the new Norse temple, surrounded with fire.

"O goddess Frigg and Freyja, high and mighty, if you are aware of my brother's location, please tell me. I love him." And then she broke down crying. Iceland felt terrible. As he thought about it, a thought occurred.

"How long have I been gone?"

"In Midgard time? A little over four months. In Fenrir time? A little over a day."

He gasped. "A _day?_ "

She nodded. "Time is a funny thing on Yggdrasil," she said. "The general rule is that the closer you get to Midgard, the more 'normal' time becomes. The further out you go, the slower it is. So to your friends, who spent about two weeks in Helheim, one week equaled two Midgard months. This island is so isolated, however, that a week here would be about 2.3 Midgard _years._ "

Iceland went quiet. "Well, at least that means that if they're indeed going to rescue me, it should be around breakfast tomorrow," he said with a sense of consolation.

Freyja smiled sympathetically. "There's the catch, Iceland. They aren't going to be rescuing you any time soon. To get here, you have to be immortal."

"So? Couldn't they just ask you?"

"First, they would have to find Bifrost, which only Æsir know about. Then, they would have to convince Heimdall that their cause is worthy enough to petition before Asgard. If he doesn't think so, that's that. But suppose they make it. The trip alone would take about six Midgard months. The petition before the Æsir would take about three Asgardian days. One week on Asgard is seven Midgard months, so now they've spent a total of nine or ten Midgard months getting to Asgard, not counting the time it took to find Bifrost and convince Heimdall. They would wait a total of one Asgardian week to allow for your retrieval, and then the journey home. Grand total? About two Midgard years. Or, a week here."

Iceland's face fell. "So that was essentially a roundabout way of saying that this is going to be the longest week of my life?"

She made a forced smile. "Yes, dear." He let out an exasperated breath.

"You'll do great. Just focus on the present and everything will be fine." She stood up and started to walk across the heavens, disappearing into mist. He let out a sigh, and fell asleep.

* * *

It was a gorgeous spring morning in Tallinn. The birds were returning from Italy for the upcoming warmer months, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. You would never think that two Baltic relatives were going on a mission to the Land of the Dead.

Sister Finland showed up to Estonia's house absolutely sober, but had a hip flask full to the brim with homebrew if necessary. Knowing her companion, she was definitely going to need it; just _seeing_ Estonia made her want to drink. Meanwhile, Estonia answered the door half-conscious with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, although she woke up a little when she saw Sister Finland. The Finn gave a curt nod and entered. "Coffee?" Estonia offered. Sister Finland signaled that she, indeed, did want a cup of coffee as quickly as possible. She marveled at how tidy Estonia's house was; the last time she had been here the floor was littered with vodka bottles and ice cream cartons.

"So, down to business," Estonia said promptly as she pulled two jewels out of her pocket. "Sweden gave me these before I left. They're one-way teleporters; one for there, one for back. He managed to find a portal or some other that aligned with our dimension, and he created these for the same portal. How do they work? You smash them on the ground and say where you want to go. If you want more people to come, you have to be touching them somehow. Got that?" Sister Finland, following barely as the coffee cleared the morning fuzz out, nodded in understanding.

"Great," Estonia said. "Chug down that coffee, because we're leaving."

After doing so, Estonia took Sister Finland by the hand, smashed the jewel on the floor and said in a clear voice, "Tuonela!"

The room spun out of focus, and soon they were gone… and a desert materialized before their eyes.

"Okay, Finland, here's the deal," Estonia said, peeling off her top. "Take off everything that's going to cause you to be hot. Hats, tops, anything. This heat _will_ kill you." Sister Finland did as she was told. It seemed like Estonia knew what she was doing… for once.

* * *

Daybreak over Fenrir's Island found Iceland slumped over, snoring. Delling was roaring with laughter, so much so that the island woke with a start. "Huh! What!" he exclaimed. Squinting up, he saw the god of dawn laughing hysterically. Iceland gave him a glare that would have froze Helheim over, and Delling excused himself to continue dragging the sun over the horizon.

"Damn minor gods," Iceland muttered, and curled up to continue sleeping. A shade fell over him, and he took it as a sign of convenience.

"ah-HEM!" the source coughed with frustration. Iceland opened his eyes a little, only to spot someone. His companion! She was about his height and age, and in fact looked like a young Freyja.

"Why, hullo," he said, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

" 'Why, hullo' yourself," she snapped back.

Iceland felt a little patronized. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Sjöfin, your companion," she said. "I can't believe the gods wasted someone of my talents and looks on… you. A mere _mortal._ "

Now, Iceland didn't feel patronized. He was affronted. "Sjöfin, I just learned that my friend died. My other friends are impossibly far from here, and I have no hope of getting rescued. I really could use a _friendly_ companion."

She humphed and stormed off, leaving Iceland agape. _Some friend they sent me!_ he thought. After sitting and stewing in his newfound anger for a little bit, he climbed down from the mountain and returning to his basecamp, where he found Sjöfin playing with his demons.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Those are my guards! They keep me from getting eaten by the huge wolf right out there! _Hræða hana burt!_ " Suddenly, the demon stopped being so cuddly. "What… what's happening to… it?" she asked as the demon's eyes started glowing red. Then, it ballooned into a frightening shape and sounded the noise of the apocalypse. Sjöfin screamed and ran away crying. _Shows her right,_ Iceland thought. _Yeesh._

Shortly before full sunrise, he grabbed his jury-rigged bow and arrow, along with the flag he had made from his shirt and a stick (another flag hung at his basecamp, as a sort of mark-the-territory move), and he went out to hunt.

About 1,500 paces from his camp, as he neared a lake, he could hear a noise. Peering from behind a tree, he saw Sjöfin crying softly beside the water. He immediately felt absolutely terrible about his behavior, and yet a voice in his head said, _Yeah, but she got what she deserved. Moody and scornful bitch._ This thought bothered Iceland; was he not himself? And then he realized why a companion had been sent to him. The gods knew that he was lonely, and that bred bad things. His knowledge of psychology wasn't great, but it was enough to know that he was being a dick.

After hunting, he returned to his camp. He laid down to take a rest, but the demons were quite nervous, growling at every little thing. "Shut up, guys, there's nothing there!" he said, and they calmed down a little. His eyes shot open, however, when he heard a little scream, only to see Sjöfin dangling by her arms like a monkey from a tree branch right above him.

"You!" he yelled, and he realized that that came out more spiteful than wanted. "What are you doing?"

"Just exploring," she said innocently.

"Oh? Right into my basecamp, guarded by demons? No wonder they were all jumpy!"

"Yeah, well…"

"Wait. _Were you watching me?_ "

She twirled her hair. "Maybe."

" _That's weird!_ "

"You're weird."

"Yeah, I noticed."

She fell off the branch into the leaves below. "So, who _are_ you?"

"I'm Iceland," he said. ""And you said your name is Sjöfin, although I don't know that name."

She sighed. "I'm a love goddess. I had nothing else to do, so Odin sent me here." She noticed his cold expression. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch earlier. I was angry, but not at you." He nodded gently. "Yeah, I apologize, too," he said. "That was really mean of me. I saw you crying." He grabbed a demon. " _Vera logn!_ " he ordered, and the demon assumed a playful position, purring. "Go on, stroke him," Iceland said, taking her hand and placing it on the demon's tummy. Sjöfin seemed to have the time of her life. "He's really cute!" she said. Iceland laughed.

"Haha, so are you," he said without thinking.

She stopped and turned, only to see blush Muspelheim red.

"Oh, really? Me, a love goddess, _cute?_ " This only caused Iceland to blush more.

"I need to talk to Fenrir again," he said, quickly changing the subject.

"Okay, loverboy," she teased. Throwing one last nasty glare, he trumped off with a couple of demons. "Sauma, Garm, come!" he ordered, and left Sjöfin there in the camp.

 _Maybe that's what they wanted,_ Iceland thought. _Maybe they want me to stay here forever._

* * *

 _1\. The Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador is often considered "the lost British Isle". The culture is very different from 'mainland' Canada, and they still consider themselves fundamentally different from the rest of Canada; in fact, some locals still say they're "going to Canada" when going to the mainland. They were the last province to be absorbed into the confederation. They speak a dialect of English called "Newfoundland English" or simply "Newfie English", which involves heavy use of "b'y" (boy), which is used to address people of both genders. I spent FOREVER researching the dialect so I could make the scene a little more authentic. They also are host to the earliest proof of Europeans discovering the Americas, at a community called L'Anse-aux-Meadows. You can visit the only excavated Norse settlement in the Western Hemisphere here._

 _2\. Fenrir is the brother of Hel by Loki and a giantess named Angrboda. He started out as a cuddly puppy, but quickly grew into a massive, monstrous wolf. Odin chained him down to an island isolated from the rest of the World Tree._

 _Keep reading! I love you guys!_


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think it's terrifying! Are you sure we're not in Hell?"

Sister Iceland was trying to find a crack in the floor of the Muspelheim temple, while Faroe Islands clutched at the crucifix in his pocket. "C'mon, it's gotta be around here somewhere," she grumbled, occasionally stomping here and there, trying to force some liquid fire out. "Why are you doing that?" Faroes asked angrily. "You're just going to attract the attention of whatever the heck lives here!"

"First off, the beings that live here are eldjötnar, or fire giants. They are hundreds of times larger than you or I. We are perfectly safe. Second off…" She drifted off as she felt a jet of hot air being breathed on her. Turning around, she came face-to-face with an eldjötunn, who was looking around. "Okay, Faroes, we're going to stay right where we are," she whispered. "With luck, the jötunn won't notice us." Unfortunately, the jötunn did notice them, and started to advance on them. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" she yelled. "Run, dammit!" And run they did. Faster than they ever had in their lives. The eldjötunn roared, and suddenly a river of lava was rushing towards them at the speed of a freight train. "Oh mother of Jesus, I don't wanna die!" Faroes wailed. "Shut up and you won't!" Sister Iceland yelled. "Hang on!" She grabbed his hand. "And LEAP!" They jumped and materialized in front of an otherwise peaceful Hekla. "What- the- but it's- I don't-" Faroes blurted. Sister Iceland silenced him with a finger to his lips. "The point is, we're safe by a sheer miracle. And we also accomplished our mission!" She pulled out the metal Mason jar. It was warm to the touch, filled with magma. Faroes smiled contentedly. "Next time, though, can you try to tell me when we're going to realms inhabited by fire demons?" he asked. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Sister Iceland commented. "We have to go send this."

"And just how does one send packages to the Underworld?" Faroes asked skeptically. "Is there a postal service between realms?"

"Nah," she said. "Just a shrine."

Forty-five minutes later, Faroes sat outside of the temple, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs, when Sister Iceland came out. "Good news!" she said happily. "Our offering has been accepted! We're halfway done with our mission!" Faroes breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good," he said. "We get to relax now, right?"

"We'll see," she said. "But for now, yes."

"Oh, good."

They walked in contented silence for a few meters, and then Sister Iceland couldn't hold it back anymore. She turned to Faroes, spun him around to face her, and said one word with all of the power and authority she could muster: "Spill."

That was all she needed to say. He told her everything.

After he was done, she said in a very quiet voice, "We need to get you to a counseling session. Now."

* * *

"Well? How did it go?" asked Sjöfin.

"It went surprisingly well," Iceland reported. "We brokered a new treaty."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Since you're here and under Asgard's protection, any violence against you or I will result in an ass-whooping from a god much bigger than you or I."

"How… manly of you," she purred.

"Sjöfin, you come into my camp, you start laying yourself all over me, you're a literally playing with my demons. You're trying to seduce me, aren't you?" Iceland asked.

"Why don't you allow yourself to be seduced, so you can find out?" she said, throwing a pose.

"Haha. Nice try," he flatlined. "Why don't you help me strengthen these defenses, just in case we get a surprise?"

"I'll help you strengthen your bonds," she cajoled.

"Stop it."

"Fine," she muttered. "Killjoy."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Help me out here, will you?"

"You know," she said, lifting heavy wooden spikes, "I think that you're a fun-loving sort back wherever home is."

"And what makes you say that?" he grunted, digging the stakes into the ground.

"I dunno. It's just that nobody's this moody on purpose."

Iceland halted. "Am I really that bad?"

She looked at him with worry and gave a nod. "I've never seen someone so resistant to love and affection." Iceland laughed. "I'm usually that way, to be honest." She raised a furtive eyebrow. "Well, we're going to change that."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes. Sit your butt down, mister." Iceland did as he was told. "Now, you're going to answer

these questions truthfully and straightforwardly. Have you ever gone on a date?" He shook his head. "Have you ever been romantically involved with anyone? Hugging, kissing, etc.?" Another shake. "Held hands?" Nope. "Anything?" The socially isolated Iceland proved to frustrate Sjöfin at every turn. "Wow, you're frozen," she remarked. "I'll have to be your teacher. Teach you how to love somebody." Iceland gave her a worried expression, which she dismissed. "It's not that hard, don't worry about it," she said reassuringly. "Just relax in the comfort of that knowledge. And if you can't relax, I could always knock you out. Then you would," she joked. Iceland just backed away slowly.

Later that day, Iceland was sitting atop the island's highest point, which had commanding views of the oil-like sea surrounding the place for eternity. He was trying to get away and collect his thoughts, which were plentiful and unorganized.

Obviously, the biggest and most prominent concern in his mind was Sjöfin. She was clearly smitten with him. Either that, or she was playing with his mind something awful. Either way, he definitely did not return the feeling. She was too aggressive and straightforward in her manner, and didn't make him feel comfortable. Now, the obvious problem here was telling her that, which Iceland felt that he couldn't do; she was too young and fragile. Doing so would probably destroy her. Then again, he thought, she's a goddess. Although she looks young, she's probably older than anyone I know. He resolved to be frank about his feelings; he had never been terribly good at hiding them, and he wasn't a really emotional person.

And speak of the devil…

With an impressive grunt, Sjöfin's blonde head appeared over the edge. "What, you thought I was incapable of hiking several kilometers through the wilderness, and climbing a mountain?" she chastised. "Wow, you really do think little of me." He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Taking that as a sign of him not caring, she plopped right next to him.

"Well, what's on your mind?" she asked.

You know how he had promised himself not to explode, that he was going to conduct a calm and orderly discussion?

Yeah, no. That all went out the window.

"You know what? A lot is. For one thing: you keep telling me that I don't know how to love. Well, you don't, either! You are all about physical love, not true love!" he said furiously. She didn't respond, instead raising an eyebrow. He went on. "And that's why I have such a resistance to dating and the like. It's not because I'm not a touchy-feely kind of guy. It's because I'm disgusted by people who treat love like a physical item that can be discarded with once it grows old. What a self-centered and materialistic ideal! I prefer to enjoy the natural bonding, rather than the pomp in weddings and 'oh-em-gee, we're in, like, a relationship' crap. I prefer authenticity, love as pure and authentic as my hákarl. In other words, you're not my type. You don't attract me with all of this lavish adoration." He finished, and buried his face in his hands. "I just miss my friends. Every day here is another 4 days on Midgard. I've been gone now over 6 months. I'm beginning to lose hope, Sjöfin."

She sat there, thoughtful, and said, "Iceland, I'm a love goddess. I can adapt my approach if need be. All you needed to do was ask. I love you because of that tenacity and passion you just displayed to me not more than five minutes ago. I love you because you're Iceland, and you will always be Iceland to me. Don't ever change that." She smiled wickedly. "And I don't love you because you're a gorgeous man, although it certainly is a side benefit." And with that, she grabbed him by his neck and squeezed him so hard he thought that he was going to burst.

"Okay, Sjöfin, I get the message," he groaned. She released him, and he gasped for air.

"You wanna know a secret?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Okay, here's the thing: the time constraint only applies to the captive of the island, in this case, Fenrir. It does not, however, apply to you. So you know how long you've been here compared to the time you've been gone on Midgard? The exact same amount of time."

Iceland's eyes went wide, locking onto hers. Than, he went giddy with joy. "That's exactly what I needed to hear!" he exclaimed, jumping up so suddenly that Sjöfin nearly got knocked off of the mountain. "Now I don't have to worry!"

Sjöfin smiled. "And we can take all the time we want, right?"

Iceland smiled back. "Yep. We have a bit to wait."

And they went down the mountain, but this time, it was hand-in-hand.

* * *

Sweden was awakened brutally from his nap by a loud pounding at the door. It opened to reveal Newfoundland; he was soaked. "Brought ye some food," he said, producing a cooler. Sweden opened it to reveal white bread, fresh salmon, and several snack items. "I know is' naw'much, but there just innit that much 'round these harbors to begin wit'." Despite the obvious lack of nutrition, Sweden was famished and tucked in greedily. Newfoundland left, promising better care in St. John's, which he pronounced as "Sin Jinn's". His visitor thanked him.

Sweden perused over a map of the area. Despite the map being from when the area was not yet part of Canada (a belief that was carried on with an almost disturbing amount of enthusiasm in the region to the present day), it wasn't very different to the maps of the area now. He saw St. John's (which, for some reason, was not St. John), a modest town that served as the province's capital. On the other side of the island, there was Corner Brook, which appeared to be the second-largest town on the island despite it looking depressingly small. And there, on the northernmost reach of the island, was a settlement marked by a pinpoint dot and a name calligraphed in at the last second: L'Anse aux Meadows. Sweden checked the map's publication year, and knew that the Norse site would not have been discovered; that would have to wait until the 1960s. But he found it, located in a desolate reach that would prove to probably be one of the more arduous journeys he had undertaken thus far. L'Anse aux Meadows, if he remembered Norway's story right, was (and is) a tiny fishing hamlet, much like the fishing village he was in now. Only difference was instead of a cliff, it was sandwiched between the Atlantic Ocean a mysterious series of mounds.

He decided to call Sister Denmark again.

"Well, here's the deal," she said. He knew that tone. It was the "something's happened and I want you to calm down" tone.

"What happened, Denmark?" he asked wearily.

"Why do you always accuse me of doing something?" she questioned, sounding hurt. "I was calling to tell you that Faroes and Sister Iceland have returned with flame from Muspelheim."

"That's fantastic!" Sweden exclaimed. "So, how you guys handling the next step?"

"That's the problem," Sister Denmark said testily. "We don't know what the next step is. Hel never gave us a definite step-by-step guide."

"Did you think of, oh, I don't know, asking her?!" Sweden discharged. "You have in your presence a comm link with the goddess herself! Why don't you get Sister Iceland to do it?"

Sister Denmark said, "Because she and your sister are in a therapy session with Faroe Islands."

Sweden was very confused. "Wait, what happened with Faroes?"

"I don't know what, but Iceland sounded very distressed."

He sighed. "Faroes is always in a knot about something. Are you sure that it can't wait?"

"Your sister said that she would whip me, and not in the fun way, if I overheard a single word."

Sweden knew better than to question his sister's judgement. She was very intelligent and knew what she was doing.

When he got off the phone, he sat on his bed and wondered what was going to happen, and what was happening at home.

* * *

About two hours earlier…

"Can you tell us what you told Iceland?" Sister Sweden asked Faroe Islands. He looked at her with an expression combining fear and deep-seated loathing.

"It's okay," she said. "We're friends. We aren't going to do anything you're uncomfortable with. If I ever do or say something you're uncomfortable with, feel free to say so. Nothing said in this room leaves without your permission. Iceland, can you seal the doors and windows?" She nodded and used demons to do the task.

"Have we properly threatened Denmark if she overhears?" Sister Sweden asked. Sister Iceland replied in the affirmative.

"In that case, let's begin," Sister Sweden said. "Faroes, tell me everything."

He started off cautiously. "Well, it all began about three years ago. Denmark got drunk."

"Not to be tactless, Faroes, but that's not exactly news," Sister Sweden said.

"It gets to be soon," Sister Iceland replied. "Go on, Faroes."

"So, as I was saying, one night, he got drunk. Not exactly new, as you said. But this time he was very different. See, this was the first time I had been around Denmark when he was intoxicated."

"And what was that like?" Sister Sweden asked, semi-seriously.

Faroes went very quiet and said, without looking at her, "Have you heard of the Milgram Experiment?"

"Why, yes, I have. What does that have to do with-" Sister Sweden stopped halfway, then stooped her voice to the same volume. "What did he do to you?"

"Before I begin, it was not uncommon for him to use this experiment's main ideas against me," Faroes disclaimed.

"What happened?"

"He… he… he used me. To, to do… things."

Sister Sweden felt very cold all of a sudden. "What things, Faroes?" He was silent.

"Faroes, you have to tell me."

"Fine!" he yelled. "He threatened me. He said that if I didn't follow his orders, he would take over the Islands militarily. And I know you're going to ask what orders he gave me." He took a deep breath.

"He was drunk and ordered me to the living room. He went outside and brought in a person of Middle Eastern descent he had taken off the street. I don't know why or who, but it was very distressing. Denmark said that this man was a criminal responsible for the deaths of several civilians, but didn't give me any more details. He shoved a whip- a legit, leather whip- into my hands and told me to give this man 15 lashes, bareback. I couldn't do it. I can't harm a civilian, much less one that I don't know anything about. Sweden, his eyes. They were full of fear. He pleaded with me, and said things in broken Danish. Things like, 'I have a family', 'why was I brought here', 'Please, don't do this, I'm innocent'. I turned to give the whip back to Denmark, but he threatened my home and sister if I didn't cooperate. So I had to. I whipped the man. He screamed, calling upon God. I was torturing a man of faith, which went against all of my basic principles." He paused.

"Denmark would screamed obscenities at the man. Awful things. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It hurt me on so many levels." Sister Sweden couldn't believe what she was hearing. But there was more.

"Sweden, he was screaming… in German."

She looked at him dead-on and asked, "Do you think it might have been a relapse?"

"I don't know, but if it was, it was one heck of a relapse." He began taking off his shirt. Sister Sweden raised an eyebrow, but quickly dropped it and gasped. His back was marked with scattered scarring. Some were small, and some were large.

"This is my proof of 'ownership'. Denmark inflicted abuse on me once a week for an entire year after that, to prove that he was boss. It varied. On the one hand, it could be just a slap or scratch, which is what most of them are. But he sometimes would use a crop, and the large scarring is from that heavy leather whip he had me use in the first place."

"Whatever happened to the man Denmark abducted in the first place?"

"Let's just say that there's a reason the grass grows greener is several parts of his backyard." Sister Sweden was aghast. "He killed him?" Faroes nodded. "Single gunshot to the back of the head, SS-style."

Sister Sweden, deeply disturbed, asked, "So, what made him stop after a year?"

Faroes grew very jittery. "He found a new way to keep me in toe. He's been blackmailing me."

"With what, Faroes?" He got very apprehensive. "Faroes?" He looked at her. "I need you to tell me. It's absolutely critical."

"He knew about my secret."

"Can I be at liberty to ask what your secret?"

Faroes looked around cautiously. "Can I trust you? Both of you?"

"Absolutely," they replied.

He took a very deep breath, fidgeted, then said quietly, "I'm gay. _"_


	7. Chapter 7

"Really?" asked Sister Sweden.

Faroes nodded.

"Really really?"

He nodded, more vigorously than before.

She said in the most serious tone possible, "I'm going to kill him."

Faroes said nervously, "Not if he kills me first."

"He won't," she said with authority. 'If he lays a finger on you, you tell someone. Anyone. Hear me?"

"Yes, Sweden."

"Iceland, you're excused," Sister Sweden said. Sister Iceland left and closed the door.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Okay, I guess," he replied. "I feel a lot better, but everything still hurts."

"That's typical," she said. "You feel better because you told someone about a detail that you've been actively suppressing for years., and yet you hurt because it doesn't heal the damage done to you." He thought about it, than said, "Yeah, that sounds right. What do I do now?"

"Well, you should still set up regular appointments with me," said Sister Sweden. "Don't worry, I won't charge you a krone. Now, about Denmark. The obvious recourse would be to send him to the Hague. But there's a problem."

"The Netherlands being Denmark's best friend?" Faroes groaned.

"That's number one," Sister Sweden said. "Other than you or I, nobody will- nor is willing to- believe that Denmark would ever do something like that. Honestly, I didn't believe it at first. I'll help you out if needed. As for other recourses, we could give him a reprimand and sanctions. They would need to be approved by the Nordic Council."

"Which will never happen," Faroes complained. "He's too beloved!"

"Not as much as you would think," she said. "It would be possible to pass it."

"How?"

She took a deep breath. "You testify to the Council what you just spent two and a half hours telling me. A reduced version, of course."

"No."

"That's what I thought," she said. "There is, of course, problem number two. Denmark's dead."

"Not for much longer. Depends on how well your brother does."

"Yeah…" Sister Sweden trailed. She hadn't heard anything out of Sweden for a while. She knew that he was in Newfoundland, trying to find L'Anse aux Meadows.

* * *

The sweat streamed down in rivers. Water was scarce and rationed very conservatively, so they would have extra for later. Both were suffering, but Sister Finland was in the most trouble. She had started lagging no matter how much effort she put into her walk. The sand was too much and it was too hot. On the third day of traversing the desert, they appeared to be no closer to the forest that would herald Tuonela. Estonia had been tracking her progress, and grew increasingly concerned. But now, it had reached the point where she knew that she had to act.

Sister Finland collapsed. "Finland!" Estonia yelled. No response. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" she muttered as she ran towards her. Kneeling, she saw that Sister Finland was moments from irreversible dehydration. Acting, she pulled out the other jewel. The one they were going to use to get home. Sister Finland mustered all her energy to protest. "I have to," Estonia told her. "You'll die if you're not taken care of now. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." She forced Sister Finland's hand to crush the jewel, and with a loud voice, said, "Stockholm!" And in an instant, she was gone.

Estonia sighed, and trudged on her way, using the same survival tactics that Finland had used. It took her a lot shorter time to get to the forest, though. She was there that afternoon.

Entering the forest, she nearly cut her foot on a large metal object. Looking down, her heart stopped. It was Finland's knife. He must dropped it at the edge and never noticed, the very thought of which made her suspicious. It was always on his person. Picking it up, she was alarmed to see a ruddy brown, flaky material-oxidized blood-crusted all over the blade. She withdrew her own knife-a large black sheathed blade-and holstered Finland's. She had a feeling that there was going to be a bit of dying involved in this rescue mission.

As she walked the twisting path, she came across hints of a struggle- broken branches, stampeded flowers, the occasional corpse. She made her way to the riverbed, where a solitary maiden stood, waiting for her to get in the boat. Knowing that Finland lay on the other side, she reluctantly agreed to cross the river into the Dead Land. It felt very unnatural, like it shouldn't have been happening. As soon as she landed on the other side, guards approached her. She knew that this was the moment, the do-or-die. She took her knife on both of them and ran deep into the land.

Slowing down as she entered another forest, she felt a presence behind her. Wheeling around, she saw a large, black figure advancing on a small, huddled being. She did the only thing she did well at this point: attacked.

* * *

To Finland, this was it. This was the end. As the guard advanced, ready to eat his soul (which was going to be an unfortunate experience for the recipient), he heard a scream, and a blade protruded from the guard's gut. As the being dissolved into shadow, Finland got a up-close look on his savior.

It was definitely female, but she looked like hell. She had medium-length hair that was matted with black grime, was wearing nothing except a makeshift top and a skirt, and was bearing a large black knife caked in infernal darkness. His knife was holstered in her sheath. Her arms bore cuts and bruises.

He gaped. It was Estonia!

"C'mon, Finland, there'll be time for ogling later," she grunted, heaving him over her shoulder and trundling off towards the mountains. As they secretly crossed the creek into the land of the living, they could hear the howls of frustration from Tuonela proper. "Ruddy bastards," Estonia said. "Let's go home."

But how? She had used the last teleporter device. Well, the mountains Finland had seen earlier were, in fact, a border of sorts. Over the border was Earth, so that's where they headed.

That evening, when Estonia finally got tired of carrying him, they collapsed near a creek of pure water. They both took advantage of it to clean themselves and assuage their thirst. After the immediate excitement, Finland turned to other matters.

"Er, thanks," Finland said. Estonia turned around. "You're welcome," she replied, and went back to washing her hair. Finland took a deep breath. "No, I don't think you understand what I mean," he said slowly. "Without your help, I would not be a breathing, living human being right now. I would instead be a very dead one." Estonia looked at him and said, "Enlighten me."

"Well, for starters, you killed the guardian spirits that tried to take my soul," he began. "And you gave me food at your personal expense. You fended off that bear. You killed an elk to save my life with a fur coat and meat. Not to mention that you saved my sister's life and took on Tuonela all by yourself, along with providing me an excellent full-frontal view just now." When he looked up at her face, she was beaming. "You're thoroughly enjoying this, aren't you?" She nodded. He frowned a little. "Is it because we've deprecated you for so long?" She nodded again. He rolled his eyes. "I'm tired," he yawned. "Good, because I am too," she responded. She pulled the elk pelt out and covered the two of them in it. Finland raised an eyebrow. "Um, Estonia?"

"Has it ever occurred to you, Finland, that sleeping with someone does not necessarily denote having sex?" He went quiet, and then went to sleep. Not more than five minutes after that she did, too.

Although they were more than uncomfortable around each other when awake, nighttime found them huddling against each other in the frigid night, like yin and yang, complementing each other and yet disagreeing. But for the moment, they were at peace.

* * *

"Oh, Iceland…" came Sjöfin's sing-song voice.

"Mmph."

"Iceland, I have a surprise for you!"

"Leemee 'lone."

"ICELAND!"

He popped out, disheveled but otherwise chipper. "You called?"

"You think?"

"What's going on?"

"I'm going back to Asgard."

"What? Why?"

"Don't worry about it, it's just two days."

"You mean that you've been able to leave this whole time?"

"Yep." And with that succinct response, she vanished.

He thought on that single word. It showed that she could've willed herself to leave at any time. But she didn't. Instead she had stayed on the island, putting up with him and the giant wolf that wanted to eat his guts. Why?

Because she loved him, and now he had the evidence to prove it.

* * *

The Norwegian siblings, Sister Iceland, Sister Sweden, Sister Finland, and Faroes sat around while Sister Denmark paced angrily around the living room.

"She said what?"

"She said that she could take care of herself," Sister Finland muttered. "Than she forced me to come back."

"Good thing she did," Sweden said, "or you would be dead."

"She's dead, too!" Sister Finland yelled. "Even if she made it to Tuonela, she would have to know where my brother is being held. And then she would have to escape, something no living person has done since antiquity!" She put her face in her hands, and Sister Denmark let out a grunt of annoyance. "Why? Why, Estonia, why?" she yelled at the sky. "What's our latest on Sweden?"

"Nothing in the last day," Sister Sweden reported.

Sister Denmark sighed. "All right. I'm calling a week-long break. The kids need attention and we've been too focused on this. Keep me posted on any new developments."

As they left, she collapsed on the couch, completely exhausted.

"You've done a remarkable job," came a voice she did not expect. She looked up to see Faroes standing there, looking red in the eyes but otherwise in a pleasant mood. "Thanks," she replied, and watched him go out the door. There was something different about him. Something… brighter. More mature. She wondered… and forgot.

* * *

"Well, here ye h'are," Newfoundland said, stopping the truck. Sweden got out and mused over the ancient ruins. He remembered the story like it was yesterday…

 _"So, this the place?" Norway asked, looking over the strange mounds._

 _"Yeh," responded Newfoundland. "Thar's the ol' Ind'in camp."_

 _"Yeah… Indian camp," Norway murmured._

 _"Anyway, holler if ye need an'thin'," Newfoundland said as he went back to farming._

Sweden shook himself out of his daydream, and walked into the longhouse, something like Iceland used to live in. And there, in the corner, was a glowing blue wisp of mist. Touching it, he was transported to another world. An ethereal world.

It resembled Pluto if Pluto had a transparent atmosphere. Looking up, he could see galaxies and stars; by extending his arm, he felt that he could touch outer space itself. He looked at his surroundings. Niflheim was barren, with a few cuts carrying pure, crystal clear water. Other than that it was sheet ice. He decided to follow the nearest river, hoping that it would lead him to Hvergelmir, the Eternal Spring.

He followed it until it dropped down into a ravine. "This is as far as you'll want to go," came an eerie voice. "Who's there?" Sweden called out.  
"A friend."

"Who?"

"One who suggests not going down there, unless you want a date with Niðogg."

"Who is Niðogg?"

"The great worm that resides in the neverland between Niflheim and Helheim."

"Worm?"

"Parlance for dragon."

"Ah."

The voice drifted away on the wind, and Sweden was left to his thoughts. He took the risk that this stream did flow from Hvergelmir, bottled it up in the special container that Sister Iceland gave him, and turned around to leave. But goddammit, curiosity took the best of him. He shone his penlight down the ravine.

On top of what was the biggest taproot (and collection of roots) Sweden had ever seen, he saw a large… snake? It didn't look like the stereotypical dragon. It was feeding on screaming corpses, which was enough for Sweden, who turned tail and got the heck out of there.

He materialized in his living room, scaring the shit out of a sleeping Sister Denmark. "Gah, you're back!"

"Yep," he panted. "Where's Sister Iceland?"

"At her house," she replied. "Did you-?"

He produced the container.

"Woah," she said in complete awe. But in a blip, it vanished and was replaced by Sister Denmark's now very much alive brother.

"Get everyone here," Sister Denmark, said, hyperventilating. "NOW!"

* * *

Denmark sat at the front, looking at the people he had not seen in four and a half months. He then spotted Faroes walking in the door with Sister Sweden, and they made eye contact. Faroes hid behind Sister Sweden, who, upon seeing who had Faroes in a bundle, made a threatening gesture at Denmark.

"I don't know what's going on between you two, but I don't like it, so stop it," Sister Denmark said, directing the two over to a spot far from her brother.

"Brief me about everything. I know I was in Helheim. Hel's kinda cool if you get to know her," Denmark said. "What have I missed?"

"Estonia went on a rescue mission for Finland, who got transported to Tuonela," Sweden said. "And Iceland is on some island with a wolf."

"Fenrir's Island?" Denmark asked.

"Yes."

"You're not going to want to go there for another two weeks," the Dane warned. "It's about to get messy."

"How so?"

"Let's just say that he's gotten himself embroiled in a thing," he said, smirking.

* * *

 _2 days later…_

"Honey!" Iceland called, seeing his girlfriend. "How was Asgard?"

Sjöfin grinned. "I brought you something special for our four-and-a-half month anniversary!"

Iceland was suddenly filled with excitement. What did she bring? Food? Clothing?

"Isn't she beautiful?" Sjöfin asked.

Iceland looked down.

Standing there was a little girl.

* * *

 _Huh boy. Let's see how Iceland does as a father to LIVE children, eh?_

 _And you really, really don't want to meet Nidhogg. Regardless, you will soon enough._


	8. Chapter 8

Iceland didn't know how to react. Numbness had taken over his body. His mind was racing with so many thoughts. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was garbled babble.

"Is she-" he began.

"Ours?" Sjöfin completed. "Yes."

"What- How-"

"You remember that one night?"

"Which-" Then realization dawned. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"So what's her name?"

"Her given name is Guðrún Islandsdóttir," Sjöfin said. "Make of that what you will."

"Then Guðrún it is," Iceland declared. "Although we'll probably simplify it to Gudrun on Midgard. I am only one of two people who still uses the _eth_."

"Whatever the case, we're responsible for her now," Sjöfin said. "So what will you teach her?"

"Base Jumping," he said completely seriously until seeing her face. "Kidding," he muttered. "Do we know if she has any, you know… abilities?"

"She's a demigod, so there's a possibility," she said. "Still, the chances are low, and even if she does it's not going to be anything spectacular. Keep in mind that her mother is a relatively minor love goddess, not Odin or Thor."

"I'll keep that in mind, like you told me to," he said. "Hm… I'll teach her how to get by in the Nordic world back home. Concepts such as accepting others, paying taxes, and conducting the occasional Viking raid on some random European nation." Sjöfin nodded in approval.

Iceland picked Guðrún up. She looked at him with big, wide eyes, and tufts of blonde hair were sticking out in random places. "You're my daughter," he said, forming the words that sounded so alien but so wonderful at the same time. "I'm your father, Guðrún." She looked up at him.

" _Ísland?_ "

"That's my name," Iceland said.

" _Nafnið þitt er Ísland._ "

Iceland was impressed. "Did you teach her Icelandic?" he asked Sjöfin. She shook her head in disbelief.

"I'm going to assume she's intelligent. Can you say my name in English?"

"Iceland."

Now he was very surprised. "How?" he breathed. "How do you know?"

"She's a smart girl, Iceland," Sjöfin said. "Were you not expecting that?"

"What?!" he said indignantly. "What are you accusing me of?"

"Nothing," she said, looking at him worriedly. "Calm down, would you?"

He grunted and went back to his child, who was now grasping at his hair. "So how old is she in Midgard years?"

"About 2."

"Ah."

He looked back down at Guðrún, who was now asleep. "Well, I guess that's that for today," he said. "I'm going to bed."

"I'll join you," Sjöfin yawned.

And the new family settled down for their first night of many together.

* * *

Iceland woke up the following morning cuddling Sjöfin.

Or so he thought.

"Good morning," he murmured in her ear as he kissed her neck. As his hands slid down her chest, she said, "I think it's in my best interest, as well as yours, to let you know that you're about to commit incest, Dad."

 _DAD?!_

His eyes shot open, and five inches away from him was not Sjöfin, but rather his now teenage daughter Guðrún, who had been two years old the night before.

Iceland screamed. "Guðrún! What happened to you?"

"Welcome to having a demigod as a daughter."

"Wait, who told you about-"

"Me."

He turned around to see Sjöfin sitting quietly off to the side.

"And what are you doing, sitting in the corner?" he asked furiously. "Were you watching?!"

"Aw, shut up," she said, laughing. "It was pretty hilarious."

"Funny that I was going to manhandle my own daughter?"

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"Yeah. Not so funny, is it?"

"Is this seriously how you guys fight?" Guðrún muttered.

"No," said Iceland, calming down. "And put some clothes on."

"What if I don't want to if I don't have to?" Guðrún countered. "What's the matter with not wearing clothes here? Are you uncomfortable with a naked body? Apparently not when it was Mom."

"Guðrún…" Iceland warned.

"Oh, I see! You're uncomfortable with _my_ naked body."

"Yes!"

"Because I'm your daughter."

"Yes!"

"And because you were a warning away from-"

"GUÐRÚN!"

"-incest?"

"What's the matter, honey?" Sjöfin asked. "What's wrong with a little incest? We don't have DNA, so it's perfectly okay…"

"That's all fine and well, but _I_ have DNA!" Iceland said. "And it's a practice that's frowned upon in 99% of Midgardian societies!" He summoned several demons. "Okay, guys, I need you to be clothing for my daughter. There's a storm coming in and she's going to get quite cold." They obeyed, and soon Guðrún was sporting a rather comfortable and warm (and not to mention fashionable) outfit. "Okay, guys, good job. Now Guðrún, there's some things I need to tell you about." She sat.

"You have more family than just us, you know that, right?" She nodded.

"I have one full sister, and two half-siblings. My sister is, well, Sister Iceland. She's a völva. You know what those are, right?" Again, she nodded. "Okay. Now, my half siblings. One's a brother, the other a sister. His name is Norway, and hers is Sister Norway. Nothing godly or even supernatural about them, but they are both the nicest, most patient, and the most compassionate people you will ever meet. They'll be your godparents."

"Will be?"

"I haven't asked them yet."

"Why?"

"I haven't been on Midgard for four and a half months."

"Oh," she said quietly. "Do you have any friends back home?"

He proceeded about the antics of his neighbors and his friends. As he did, Sjöfin got the feeling that this could be more than something that happens then goes away.

This could last a lifetime.

* * *

There was a knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in," said Denmark. It was Greenland.

"I'm here partially on my own will and partially because I was bribed to by Sister Sweden," he said.

"Go on," said Denmark, thoroughly confused.

"Sweden says that if you go to Faroes and you properly apologize for your misconduct towards him they'll be willing to lessen your punishment."

That got Denmark's attention. "Excuse me?"

"I said that-"

"I KNOW WHAT YOU SAID!" Denmark bellowed. "THE LITTLE BASTARD WASN'T SUPPOSED TO TELL!"

"Don't kill the messenger," Greenland said. "Also, if you're thinking of carrying through with your blackmail, you should know two things: they have you completely surrounded when it comes to this. They'll know if you do _anything._ Second: you've driven my best friend to the brink of self-harm, so you can count me out when it comes to helping you."

"What's the punk going to do to me anyway?" Denmark retorted. "He has no power!"

"Oh, he's caught the attention of Sister Iceland and Sister Sweden, and Sweden himself is willing to prosecute you if you do as much as blink at Faroes without consent. They'll drag you in front of the Nordic Council on charges of blackmail, threatening to kill, and hate crimes, all of which you are guilty of. They'll convict you and impose two years of sanctions, as well as other nastiness."

Denmark went quiet.

"That's what he can do to you," Greenland said with deathly calm. He turned tail and left.

"Greenland?" he called.

"Yes?"

"I want to speak with Sweden. Here. In person."

"I'll see what I can do," his colony promised, and then he left.

* * *

Not an hour later, Sweden was sitting in a chair while Denmark sluffed in his bed. Sweden was in full lawyer mode, complete with steno pad and more pens than any sane human should have on their person.

"So, you wanted to talk?" he said, completely seriously.

"Yes," Denmark said with no emotion.

"I'm assuming that you want to negotiate your punishment?"

Denmark responded with a curt nod.

"Well, there are a couple of things that you could do. You could apologize to Faroes. That'll knock off six months of sanctions. You could also grant him full independence. That'll knock off that penalty; we're going to enforce that either way. Another is calling a premature election to oust Venstre and its coalition government."

"Now wait just a minute!" Denmark scorned. "I just had one a few months ago, a legitimate one at that!"

"You will call a new one, or face the consequences!"

"It doesn't work that way! That's not democracy! I have a monarchy, but also a constitution! I can't call a new Folketing just because _Sweden_ doesn't like the controlling party!"

"Do you even hear yourself?" Sweden reprimanded. "You're being not yourself! That's what this new government is doing to you!"

"Screw it!" screamed Denmark. "I'm going to face my accuser! Bring on the court!"

Sweden suddenly became very depressed. "Denmark, it doesn't have to come to this," he said sadly. "You have people who care and love you. We don't want this to happen. It can be avoided."

The smaller nation sighed and crumpled up in an apparent nap. Sweden rolled his eyes and said, "Denmark, I know you're tired but we need to continue talking if we're going to get anywhere." But Denmark didn't respond. Instead, he convulsed violently and threw up. Then, an otherworldly voice came from his mouth:

" _He is mine. If you want him, prove to me that the world wants him._ "

And then he disappeared.

* * *

That night, Finland dreamed. He did not usually dream.

In it, he was in remarkable pain. He was crawling across the same tundra that he and Estonia had traversed, but she was nowhere to be found.

It continued in this vein for what seemed like hours. And then a familiar voice came from the heavens. "Silly goose, did you think you could escape Tuonela all by yourself?" Estonia chastised playfully. "Look at you, you're all cut-up and bloody!" She wiped him down with a cloth, like he was some sort of car. "There. You're better, for the most part. Let me take care of you, stubborn man!" As it passed like a time-lapse, he saw her carrying him on her shoulders, kissing him goodnight, and dressing his wounds. And then, it ran headlong into the time they were in, and Finland woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright and panting heavily. He looked to his left, and Estonia was sleeping, albeit quite uncomfortably. She was shivering, probably freezing, and all to protect and take care of him. Taking several deep breaths, he laid back down, but this time with Estonia in his embrace.

He looked up at the stars. He couldn't spot any familiar patterns, nor any aurora despite being in the tundra. Given that they were in a mythological realm, he was surprised to see a night sky at all. But there were millions of them, and for once all of his problems seemed to disappear into the vastness of space. He thought about the people of antiquity who based stories on the stars, and the heroes who had come to this realm before and looked at the same night sky. This gave him calm. This gave him peace.

* * *

Sweden had called an emergency session of the Nordic Council.

"Denmark's gone," he announced.

"So we've noticed," came a snide Sister Sweden. "Wonder what could've happened to him."

"Hel took him," Sweden said. "At least, I think it was Hel."

"It wasn't Hel," Sister Iceland responded. "I would know."

"Then who the hell possessed and took him?"

"Working on it." She went out of the room to make some calls.

"Great," he said. "Any word on Estonia and Finland? Or Iceland, for that matter?"

"Sweden, I got a tag on Denmark's location!" came Sister Iceland's voice.

"Great! Where?"

"Jotunheim."

"Like the park?"

"No. The Realm itself."

* * *

"So you're telling me," Guðrún said, "that in the thousand-plus years of your existence, you've managed to only create one dish that people know you for? And that dish happens to involve fermenting Greenland shark long enough to get the poison out?"

"It's not as bad as you think," Iceland replied meekly.

"It is as bad as I think," she said with disgust. "You need to learn how to cook."

"Are you saying that agriculture is nonexistent on your island?"

"Yes!"

"Sounds like it needs a special touch."

"Could we not have this discussion right now?" grumbled Iceland. "I've got enough to figure out."

"As do we," Sjöfin said. "We're running out of game to hunt, and the wheatfield at the island's north end is nearly out. In other words, we're losing food and fast."

Iceland frowned. "How could that be? I thought that it wasn't supposed to run out."

"I think that the masters of this island may be trying to send us a message," his girlfriend said. "I don't think we were supposed to live here for eternity."

"You think that Odin is trying to kick us off?" Guðrún asked, lashing tree branches together to create extra roofing. "It's certainly possible," said her mother. "Although it seems more like we're trying to be killed. If they wanted us off, the gods would just transport us to Midgard, _ja_? But cutting off our food is a way to kill us, not get us home. Something's up. I blame Loki."

"Of course you do," Iceland said. "Isn't that the first recourse people up here take when something doesn't go their way? Despite him being chained up to a rock?"

"It's not completely out of the question," she countered. "The Trickster has many servants and spies loyal to him, not to mention that… that…" she balled up her fists and her face grew red, like she was going to spew some awful curse word, but nothing except a very tense exhale. "Slut?" Guðrún finished helpfully. The color drained out of Sjöfin's face. "Yes, dear. That impetuous little harlot he calls his wife."

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay. I was in progress on Chapter Nine and thought I'd give you guys a double-feature. No, that would take too long, so here's Eight. (10/19)_


	9. Chapter 9

"Gah!" Denmark gasped as he awoke. "Where am I?!"

"Sh, sh, shhh. Just _relax,_ " came a gentle female voice. "I'm healing you."  
"Who are you? What are you doing?" he asked, as he couldn't see a thing. "Am I blind?"

"Temporarily, yes," she said. "I am… _reprogramming_ , as you Midgardians say nowadays. Hel had installed some of her own ideas into your head when she brought you back to life, and they redecorated. You are perfectly safe. I've disconnected your optic nerves as to make it easier for you to relax. As for where you are, you are in Jotunheim."

Denmark opened his mouth, then closed it. He realized that his questions might be answered once he could actually, you know, see.

"And… there!" she said proudly. He could suddenly see again, and the first thing he saw was a young red-haired woman. His head felt heavy, and putting his hands to the top he realized why. There was an iron crown perched there. Looking in a mirror, he could see himself dressed to the nines- with a white shirt, black tie, red tails, and a mahogany staff, along with the aforementioned crown. "I've been transported back to the 19th century," he muttered. "Why am I here?"

"Because we need you here," the woman said. "You serve a purpose."

"In the land of giants?" he asked incredulously. "What purpose could that possibly be?"

"The thing is," she said, "you're in a part of the realm that's not inhabited by giants. Look outside." Denmark stood up and immediately regretted it. "Whoah!" he groaned as he fell back into his chair. Breathing heavily, the room he was in came into focus. It was no simple room; it was a massive hall, and Denmark sat in a regally carved throne. At the back of the hall were massive windows from ceiling to floor, and it overlooked a magnificent realm, with every conceivable terrain. Denmark's mouth dropped. "What in the-"

"Welcome to Northern Jotunheim," she said. "It's occupied by both realms; this is what lays inside Norway's park. However, our human kingdoms are relatively small and, well, backwards. They're often attacked by the giant kingdoms, and we were hoping that-"

"-that I would help unite them through my sheer awesomeness and help bring about a battle that would keep them from attacking Midgardians forever?"

She gasped. "How did you know?"

"I play a lot of D&D. Listen, I'd love to, but you sort of abducted me from my home, my friends, and my family. So, thanks, but no thanks." He got up and started walking away. She called, "Would you rather have America in charge here?" He groaned loudly and turned around, huffing, back to the throne. "If somebody's going to be in charge," he declared, "I at least want them to have basic social services and an education that says that the Earth is billions of years old, not 6,000." He plopped his butt down and glared off in the distance. "You can coronate me, for all I care."

* * *

"So what's the plan?" Guðrún asked. She had crafted clothes for herself in the manner that her mom and dad had- kilts out of springy wood and leaves, with primitive helmets just in case of attack, and armed with spears. Iceland's sparkles and goggles were long gone, and his bleach-blonde hair had brown streaks throughout. His skin tone was a little darker, and he had mentally changed- gone was the carefree and romantically aloof spirit, replaced by a family man. Sjöfin had also changed. She was leagues tougher than she had been upon first arrival. Guðrún, for her part, had not been around to change much, but her personality was definitely taking shape. It became clear that she was shaping up to be a Valkyrie- tough, mentally agile and very intelligent, and strikingly beautiful. This family had outgrown their home, but for the circumstances had made ends meet.

"We're packing up camp and moving," Iceland said, removing the large wooden stakes that had protected him and his loved ones against the terror of Fenrir.

He entered the neutral zone and called out, "FENRIR!" The wolf dutifully responded. "We've received a message from Asgard. We're going home." Fenrir returned with a curt nod. "We will meet again, and under much more unpleasant conditions," he said. Iceland broke his spear that had symbolized the conflict between the two parties for almost five months. Then he turned and reentered the forest.

"It is done," he declared. "Let's go home."

They did so, and right into Iceland's house. It had gotten quite cold from the heat being off. "Well, family, welcome to Midgard." He introduced them to the multitude of new things they were encountering, as well as several of the demons. "They'll pop up out of the table once or twice, but other than that they're nothing to worry about. They sense family."

"What happens if somebody who isn't appears?" Gudrun asked. "We mop up their remains and hope for the best," came Iceland's nonchalant response. "Anyway, your room is upstairs on the first right. You'll have a chance to get settled tonight, but first, we're going to meet our new extended family!"

* * *

Sister Norway and her brother were just finishing lunch when there was a knock at the door. "Don't they know better than to disturb us while we're eating?" he asked irritably. "I thought we had made that clear!"

"Stop it and open the door," she said. "I have laundry to attend to, not to mention the girls' night at my house, so the quicker we're done here the better." Norway rolled his eyes and opened the door. The sight before him made his mouth drop.

"Hello, big brother," grinned a tanner, buffer, dirty, and much more manly Iceland. "Miss me much?" He laughed and threw his arms around a shellshocked Norway, who was capable of speaking in baby words. "Hva… lillebror… jeg…" He started to tear up as he held Iceland close. "Who are these people?" he asked, nodding to Sjöfin and Gudrun. "We have a lot to catch up on," Iceland said.

Upon getting everyone seated, Iceland introduced his family. "This is Sjöfin, my girlfriend," he said. Sjöfin gave Norway a dazzling smile. "And Gudrun, our daughter." Gudrun waved politely. Norway's face changed. "Wait…"

"You heard right."

"You have a family now?"

"Yeah, and they're pretty darn special."

"You should've seen him, Norway," Sjöfin said. "He fought off that horrendous wolf how many times?"

"Four in the time I've been alive," Gudrun said.

"Wait… Iceland fought off Fenrir?"

"Yep," Gudrun said. "And he's _fantastic_ in bed," Sjöfin laughed, to the revulsion of her daughter and the embarrassment of her boyfriend. "TMI!" they chorused.

"Ladies, can you excuse me and my dear brother for a moment?" Norway said with sickly kindness.

Norway slammed the door behind him. "What have you done?" he yelled. "You disappear for five months and return with a wife and child?! What the hell?!"

"Look, I know it's confusing, but hear me out," Iceland pleaded. "I landed on Fenrir's Island and was alone for four months. Freyja shows up and tells me that Odin is sending a companion. The next day, Sjöfin shows up. We don't get along at first, but then we reconcile and fall in love. Two weeks later, she says that she's going to Asgard for a few days. She comes back with Gudrun. Gudrun, being a demigod, matures in one day to the teenager she is now and always will be. Does that clear everything up?" Norway stood there silently, then started up again. "How are you going to raise them? You have a crumbling economy and no sense of responsibility! You just chill in the hot springs all day!"

"Denmark has borne Christiania and Scania," Iceland said pointedly. "And if he, with his current economic state, can do it, maybe my child has a chance at not being yet another fuck-up in the Nordic family."

"DON'T SPEAK OF HIM LIKE THAT!" Norway bellowed. They both went quiet, and Norway started to cry. Iceland felt a pit form. "Oh God, what happened to him?"

"Tell you later," his brother replied. "Sorry I yelled. Oh, God…"

"I know," Iceland said.

"How's the girl?"

"She's really coming along," Iceland said. "I want you to be her godfather."

"Oh- oh really?" Norway asked. Iceland nodded. "Yeah," he said.

Meanwhile, Sister Norway was learning that Iceland would not be the same character he was before.

"You do realize who Iceland was before he disappeared?" she asked.

"I know," Sjöfin said. "He was that way when I first came to the island. He had a certain 'I'm-not-worthy-of-you' complex. A bit of an asshole, really."

"Sounds about right," Sister Norway conceded, "but the Iceland you describe is a completely person. You did something to him."

"Granted, a child is a brutal wake-up call for anybody, really," Gudrun muttered.

"True."

Iceland and Norway returned downstairs. "Why don't we go meet the others?" Norway said. His voice was still a little fragile. "They'll be thrilled."

Sister Norway said that she would think about being Gudrun's godmother. Iceland went to the next logical place he could think of.

* * *

"Scania, I swear to God!" Sister Sweden bellowed.

"Sorry, Mom! I thought you weren't home!" yiped her flittish and dorky teenage son.

"That's the fourth time this week! If you walk in on me another time-"

"Okay, okay! Whatever!"

"Don't you whatever me! Here I am, trying to earn an income, and I have my voyeur of a son walking in on me all the time!"

"Somebody's at the door, Mom!"

Sister Sweden made a threatening growl. Scania scampered off to his room. Grabbing a bathrobe that sufficiently covered the necessary areas, she flung open the door to welcome the Norwegians.

"Ah! Norway!" she yelled, more aggressively than intended. She ran around, throwing dishes in the sink. "Uh, Sweden?" Sister Norway asked cautiously. "We have… visitors."

"I'm in no mood or shape to have visitors!" Sister Sweden said. "I have messes all over the house, and I'm at work right now!"

"They want you to be her godmother," Norway blurted. Sister Sweden gave him a glare. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

"Guys?" Norway called. "It's okay, she's nice now." Iceland and his family emerged from behind a bush. "Ohmigod, _Iceland!_ " Sister Sweden cried out, running outside and taking him by the arm, dragging him inside; Sjöfin and Gudrun took that to mean them too. "We've been so worried about you! Trapped with that horrendous wolf-" she stopped and wrinkled her nose. "Dear Lord, you smell. Go take a shower. I might have some spare cloth of yours… let me look…" she emerged successfully. "Go, go!" She rounded on the two female members of his family.

"And who are you?" She stood there imperially, and then realization took root. Her face changed and she gasped. "Are you… you…" She squealed in delight. Iceland emerged in civilized clothes for the first time in almost half a year. "Iceland, you grew up!" she said, squeezing him. "Sweden, please let go," he eked, and she did. "You must be Sjöfin," she said, giving a kiss on the cheek. "Why, yes," Sjöfin said, taken aback. "And this is Gudrun, our daughter." Sister Sweden nearly fainted. "Iceland, she's _gorgeous_! What did you do to her?"

"Let's not go there," Iceland grumbled. Sjöfin and Gudrun snickered.

"Is he good in bed?" she whispered to Sjöfin.

"He's _glorious_ ," she replied.

"Could we _NOT_?" Iceland said, turning a furious red.

"Oh, stop it and have some fun," cajoled Sister Sweden. "It's not everyday I have this opportunity." She whispered to Gudrun, "Your father's been remarkably self-worshipping. He hates being 'unclean', so this is a great time to tease him for being dirty."

"So I've heard," Gudrun said back. The two locked eyes and shared a smirk. "We totally need to get you a wardrobe deserving of such a fine figure, missy! I can't let you continue wearing that kilt-thing, it's against my moral nature. Iceland, I'm borrowing your kid tomorrow. But for now, enjoy your time on Midgard," Sister Sweden said. "Go see my brother."

* * *

Everyone else who was present on Midgard-Sister Finland, Sister Denmark, Sweden, Sister Iceland, Greenland, Faroe Islands-were doing nothing in particular when Iceland showed up. He gave everyone present a heart attack. "Jesus, Iceland!" Sweden yelled, clutching at his chest. He rounded on an embarrassed Sister Iceland. "And did you see this coming?"

"No," she said meekly, "but can't we just, you know, celebrate in my brother's return?"

"Of course, of course!" Sweden said. "Come in, Iceland! And who are these two lovely-" He stopped mid-sentence in rapid realization.

"Here it comes," Norway said.

"Wait," Sweden said, holding up his hand and laughing to himself. "Wait, wait, wait. You have a child?"

"Surprise," Iceland exclaimed, utilizing jazz hands.

"A child. Iceland bore a child."

"I actually believe Sjöfin bore the child, Sweden."

"Don't get smart with me, you!" Sweden said angrily.

"Sweden, are you jealous?" Iceland asked playfully.

"Yes- I mean, no! I don't know! This wasn't part of the plan! You were supposed to come back either under your will or ours, but not with a family! Great, now we have to come up with a new plan!"

"Stop using the royal "we" and speak for yourself," Norway said. "I never liked your plan. I'm tired of everyone using my brother as some sort of pawn."

"What was the plan?" Iceland asked warily.

"Sweden wanted to try and use you as a bargaining chip," Norway said distastefully.

"For whom?"

Norway and Sweden looked at each other, then said, "Iceland, it's time we told you about Denmark."

* * *

 _Yes, Sweden. Iceland bore a child._

 _Now that I've reunited everyone, it's time to go save Denmark!_


	10. Chapter 10

"Fuck it. Fuck it all!" Denmark let loose one sunny afternoon. "Fuck what?" asked his secretary, a quick-witted young man. "I don't _care_ if they want to represent just their own fat arses!"

You see, Denmark had recently held a conference of every ruler in the new realm. The purpose was to discuss how to represent the different fiefdoms scattered throughout the land. Denmark proposed a European Parliament-style venture, with each fiefdom sending a proportional amount of representatives, it met with considerable applause. But when he had to explain that it would be common people in the Parliament, he nearly lost his head.

" _How dare you give the peons sacred duties?" one prince screamed._

" _We're the politicians here!" yelled a king._

" _Are you a commoner yourself?" interrogated yet another._

" _Leave my palace, and don't come back!" bellowed Denmark, red in the face. 87 rulers stormed out, just as furious._

"Matthias, take this memo to the Minister of War: Convene 2,500 troops at Imperial Square in New Copenhagen. King Denmark will take the head of the Army." Mathias duly noted and delivered. "It's time to show those bastards what rule of the people really means," said the small nation in the big throne, gritting his teeth. "Yes, sir," said Matthias, bemused. Unilateral military action would be a new one. Pretty soon, the trumpets sounded, and Denmark, donned in full regimentals, went outside to sic his own military on the renegade fiefs.

"We'll arrive at St. Olaf's City after sundown," Denmark told his troops. "When we approach the gates, I want you to fan out in a wide semicircle and hide behind the small knolls. Archers will be sufficiently back enough as to not draw attention from the gate watch. Do not fire until I tell you to, or you are fired upon."

As they approached the city, a glow started to flash into existence, and then engulfed the entire city. "Oh God, they're setting the city on fire!" Denmark screamed. "Quickly! Help!" Upon entering the city, he saw a figure with a torch. Quickly apprehending him, Denmark discovered that he was ordered to by the prince, which filled him with rage. He rode off with him to the royal manor about a half-mile from the city.

There, he found the prince and his "parliament" having a sumptuous feast. When the prince saw a fuming Denmark advancing on him with a sword, he tried to escape, but the Monarch of North Jotunheim was much too quick. "Slick," he hissed. "You set your city on fire, pinning it on a commoner. Well, you know what? He's right here with me, and he says that he's a political prisoner ordered to torch St. Olaf's City or else. Pro tip: that's not how you rule. Not. Anymore." And with that, he arrested the prince. "You can't do this! This is war!" the prince bellowed. Denmark turned around and said, "Then you shouldn't have awoken the Viking."

The city had sustained heavy damage. Hundreds were left homeless. As they filled the Great Hall, Denmark sat on his throne, head in hands. "Matthias, Matthias, Matthias. What am I going to do with all of these people?"

"Well, your Highness, you could absorb St. Olaf's City into your realm," the scribe said off-handedly. Denmark stopped and slowly looked at him. "What?" he asked, with just the slight hint of curiosity. "Dissolve the Princedom and proclaim your rule," Matthias said. "You don't have ultimate federal power over the realms, so create your own and simply absorb." Denmark, staring agape at his upstart secretary, said, "Send a letter to every ruler. Tell them to dissolve the governments and submit to me or risk invasion. Why didn't I think of this before?" Matthias shrugged and said, "Probably because it's heavily frowned upon on Manheim. I'll go send those messages, sir." With a bow, he was off.

* * *

Sweden frowned, fixated on his goal. Given the circumstances, it was extraordinary that he was able to make any progress at all. Suddenly, he let out a great cry of frustration. "NO!" he yelled. "NOT AGAIN!"

Gudrun laughed. "You shall never beat me," she cackled as she tipped over his king. "Checkmate." Sweden gave her a poisonous glare and slinked off. "Tell your daughter to cut it out," he muttered to Iceland. "She impeding on my monopoly on brains."

"That's the what, 5th straight time?" Iceland asked, beaming.

"Aw, shut up," his friend snarled. "Has your sister found anything yet?"

"I'm sure she'll tell us."

"Last time I heard that, you showed up with that-"

"-incredibly smart and beautiful young lady?" Iceland finished, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't smiling. "Lay off my kid, will you?"

"But-"

"You heard the man," Faroe Islands said.

Sweden humphed off to his room. "What has his boxers in a twist?" Åland asked. "Oh, Gudrun beat him in chess again," Faroes said. "She broke up his, how did he put it?"

"I think it was 'monopoly on brains'," Iceland said. "Cute."

"He'll get over it," Åland said. "In the meantime, we have a situation developing." That sentence distracted everyone, because they knew what it meant: Sister Iceland had found Denmark.

And found him, indeed. She had a video image of him going. He seemed to be riding a horse while giving a rousing speech to a large army. Archers advanced and fired a volley at Denmark's command; it wasn't immediately clear what Denmark was attacking. "What in the world has he gotten himself into?" his sister exclaimed. "I don't know, but he must be wanting to go to war. I haven't seen that look on his face since the old days," Sweden said nervously. Than the image focused, and everyone gasped. "Why is he waging war on other _humans_?" Norway asked. "Only one way to find out," Sweden said. At that moment, he decided to stretch his leg out, accidentally tripping Greenland and sending him flying through the image. "Well, shit," Sister Finland said as everyone, Sweden among them, gaped in horror.

* * *

 _Okay, where the hell am I?_

Greenland lay prostrate in the midst of a great battlefield, still fresh. He could feel the imprints of horse hooves in the mud, and fresh bodies lay all around him. None of them, regrettably, looked like his master. Suddenly, a familiar voice came from the distance: "Get that man on a horse! I want him in my tent by sundown!" Heaven knew what that meant. He was swept up and lolled about on the back of a horse.

Sundown came a lot faster than Greenland would have desired. Prodded along at sword point, he entered the king's tent. There, sharpening a sword amongst regal banners and flags that Greenland would call "party decorations", was Denmark.

"Ah, Greenland. How nice of you to visit."

"Yes… sir."

"Impeccable manners, as always," Denmark said with a sarcastic touch. He looked around and outside, and then grabbed Greenland close. "You have to get me out of here!" he pleaded. "I don't like killing!"

"Then why are you doing it?" his colony asked. "Because Sister Iceland can transport us back… I think." Denmark shook his head. " _Nei,_ Greenland. She can't. You're stuck here with me. And while you're stuck here with me, you might as well be useful." He handed him a stack of parchment. "I want you to do a stock inventory on all equipment."

"But there's over 500 people!"

"That's 'yes, sir' to you."

Greenland shot Denmark a ferocious stare and left. "Jackass," he muttered. "Now, how the heck am I supposed to do all of this?"

"I will."

Greenland looked around for the voice. Left, right, and up didn't produce any revelations. But when he looked down, the whole scene changed in an instant. For reasons he could still not fathom, there was a 12-year old Sami girl.

"You're-," he said, shellshocked.

"We have the same skin," she said. Leave it to children to be blunt.

"Well," Greenland stumbled, "yes, we do."

She leaned in and said in a serious tone, "The others are not kind to me. They call me names."

"I bet."

"They do! And even I know that they are not nice names."

"Trust me, I know. I've felt it for years."

"Let me help you with those inventories, then we can talk some more. You can sleep in my tent."

"Sounds delightful," said Greenland. In all frankness, he had never been a fan of children. He thought he might give her a go because he had never met a child of the polar regions before. All he had experience with were Denmark, Sweden, and Norway's crappy kids.

"Here's how you do it," she said. "Call for battalions. Hand each group a sheet. Expect it back. They do the work and you don't lift a finger."

"Slick," Greenland said. "You do this often?"

"I'm King Denmark's go-for," she said. That immediately did not settle with Greenland, who gave a petrifying stare. She looked back at him awkwardly, than realized. "Ah, I see your worry. Don't worry, I'm not his slave. I get half the pay as a regular warrior, but it's a living." They walked through the mud-slathered camp. As midnight approached, the rain started up again, turning the ground into soup. The Sami girl's tent was tiny compared to the others, but it seemed to house all of her belongings-cot, leather shoulder sack, and various personal items. Greenland felt kind of bad, because he was given a cot in Denmark's tent. "What's your name?" he asked. She looked surprised. "I didn't already tell you?" He shook his head. "Máijá," she said.

"That's a beautiful name."

"Thanks," she blushed.

"Well, Denmark's expecting me back by now."

"Right."

They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, followed by Greenland opening his mouth as if he was going to say something. Nothing came out, and he turned around to leave.

"Where were you?" Denmark scoffed.

"Out doing your inventories," Greenland muttered, laying on his cot and burying himself in a bearskin. Denmark raised an eyebrow and said, "Well? Where are they?"

"Your battalion commanders will get them back to me in the morning," he said. "Now, leave me alone! I want sleep!"

With an early start in the morning a possibility and a bitchy Greenland, Denmark blew out the torch.

* * *

"It was an accident," said a terrified Sweden.

"Suuuuure," Faroe Islands said. "It's just coincidental you've never liked him."

"Not true!"

"Are you two going at each other's' throats again?" Sister Sweden sighed.

"No," they both said with shame.

"Better not be," she warned, "or I'll break out Mr. Tickles." Just then, a loud _whump_ resounded from the doorstep. Opening said door allowed the limp bodies of Estonia and Finland to flop over the threshold. "Um, Iceland?" said Norway, who had opened the door. Finland was pallid and holding onto consciousness; Estonia was panting heavily, as if she had just had a heart attack. Her dress was splattered with mud, and her hair was caked with blood. She struggled to stand, and tottered dangerously. Iceland caught her, and she made eye contact with Sister Finland. "He's alive," she gasped, and then crumpled in Iceland's hold.

A couple of hours later, Iceland reemerged and delivered his verdict.

"They're both on IV and sedatives. It'll be a couple of days before I allow visitors. I'm checking their heart rates to make sure they don't show any abnormalities. They've been under stress levels so high I'm amazed they aren't dead."

* * *

Sister Denmark and Norway found themselves alone on his favorite bench again. "Doesn't it feel like we're spending too much time at Sweden's house?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, but I don't think he minds." She rolled her eyes up to meet his. "He doesn't mind his private life being hijacked? He doesn't mind his garage being used as a hospital, his bathroom by half of Northern Europe, or his living room as Central Command for communications between planets?" (It's worth noting that as she said this, Sister Iceland was conducting a burnt offering in the driveway on the other side of the house.) "Okay, maybe he does a little," he said. She chuckled and started attaching herself to him. "Why don't we get back together anymore? It's almost like a phobia. Or does my brother still have that kind of influence on you?" He looked away, towards the water.

"If you don't answer, I'll assume the answer is yes."

He looked back on her with some anger. "Hey, that's not fair! You know we're friends!"

She muttered "With benefits."

"Denmark!"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry." She rubbed his tummy. "You know, back in the day it didn't take long to have the Viking swing his battle axe."

"Stop trying to seduce me."

"I can't. I've just gotten started."

"Yeah?"

"Let's go somewhere flat and find out some more."

"Uh…"

"What do you have to lose? How do you know Ragnarok isn't starting?"

"What?! What would make you say something like that?"

She started kissing his neck. "I know things," she said slyly.

"Like what?"

"That you _love_ it when I do this," and Norway moaned a little.

"Could we not do this here?"

"Don't you want to know my secrets?"

"Uh, not really."

"Too bad. I'm flirting with you, anyway."

"And there's nothing I can do to stop you?"

"Now that I'm this far? Nope."

Norway let loose a bellowing laugh, one that he had not felt in an age. And now that the dam was broken, they went to the ground.

* * *

" _Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! The birds are chirping in the neighborhood and it's fine to glitter and be gay!"_

If Denmark, for instance, wasn't the ruler of a vast swath of land, Greenland would've impaled him with his harpoon upon being awoken in that manner. Instead, he let out a groan of annoyance and buried himself deeper into his bearskin. He opened a cautious eye, and was greeted with a face two centimeters from his own.

"Good morning," said Máijá cheerfully.

Greenland screamed.

"Well, now that you're up, time to collect those inventories!" Denmark said.

Greenland glared at Denmark and left. The day was pretty much the same as before-hopelessly grey, pouring down rain, soupy marshland for soil. "Hasn't His Highness considered moving us up to higher ground?" he rhetorically asked a commander as he collected inventory sheets. "If you ask me," the warrior murmured, "he needs a stern talking to about military strategy. If I were him, I'd be worrying a lot more about the giant problem."

"Which is?"

"Oh, sorry. We have a slight issue with giants here."

"On a planet called Giant-Home? I hadn't noticed," Greenland sneered. "What are we talking about?"

"Our records show an Apocalypse every several centuries."

"A what?"

"An Apocalypse. The Giants come and do everything but salt the earth."

"Let me guess. That means that-"

"The whole Northern Realm is annihilated. Inevitably, people and records survive—every fief's archives are buried in underground libraries for this very reason—but it takes generations to revive the population."

Greenland stared into the ground, as if expecting ancient ruins to surface out of the muck. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." The commander handed Greenland the inventory sheet. He said thank you and took the sheets to Denmark.

"You know, I think you have your priorities in the wrong order," Greenland told him. Denmark looked up from the inventories. "Oh?"

"You should focus on the Giants," he blurted. Denmark raised his eyebrows curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said after finding his voice, "reportedly we're due for an Apocalypse-that means that the Giants come and ravage the entire North." Denmark's eyes flared. "She set me up," he murmured murderously. "Who?" asked Greenland, thoroughly confused. "There was a woman-ginger, hotter than, well-who persuaded me to take this job. She convinced me that the fiefs needed to unite against the giants."

"Whenever that happens, the giants kill everyone."

"So it's a setup."

"Yeah."

"We need Sister Iceland."

"No."

Denmark looked at his most recent colony with shock. "No?! Do you _want_ to die here?"

"No, that's why we're going to take them on and win."

"Against the Giants."

"Yes."

"You're fucking insane."

"And?"

Denmark sighed. "Alright, let's do it. Go to the top of that hill and blow the horn." Greenland solemnly nodded, and ran up the hill. He lifted the large brass horn to his lips and blew. A clear, piercing, resonant tone sounded across the plains of North Jotunheim. He blew again, and a series of pitches, high and low, echoed out in the cold air. Like a magnet, large groups of warriors poured out of the scattered towns and cities.

By midday, every fief's commanding warrior had reported to Denmark; by nightfall, the camp had swollen to include every available warrior in North Jotunheim, about 500,000 men. The night was another severely rainy one, leaving at least an inch of muddy water in tents.

"Eurgh!" Greenland exclaimed the next morning, struggling to remove the extremely waterlogged bearskin blanket off of him. He was assisted by Máijá, whose tent had been flooded; aside from her few possessions that she had been able to save, it was unlivable. She told him this quietly, and he duly reported it to Denmark; as her employer, he felt that he was responsible for her welfare. Denmark showed remarkable concern and asked to see her alone.

"Greenland tells me that you've been swamped out," he said, pouring her hot tea. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said. "It's awful."

"I know it is," he said. "We'll be moving camp within the next day or so. Finding you a new place to sleep should be no issue." She bowed reverently. "Thank you, King Denmark." He waved his hand dismissively. "No need. But I will assign you to Greenland's detail. You report to him from now on." She nodded and waded out into the swamp. Greenland looked as she sloshed towards her ruined tent. Reentering the royal tent, he looked at Denmark with a threatening glare. "You better have given her something," he said. Denmark turned to him. "Of course I did," he said. "We're packing up camp and moving within 48 hours. I've attached her to your detail." Greenland smiled for the first time in a long, long time. "Thank you, sir." Denmark nodded curtly.

They decided to move into the nearby fief's capital, based on two factors (well, three): location, space, and food. Specifically, beer. However, the common folk made it explicitly clear that they were hungry. Very, very hungry.

"You were feasting on fineries whilst we starved!" yelled one woman.

"Where's the food we bake and grow? You stole it!"

"They're demons, sent by Hel herself to torment us!"

At that, Denmark halted the convoy and addressed the mob. "I have been to Helheim and back, kept by the Death Goddess for four months. I have seen things that mortals such as myself can only posture in myths. I am trapped on this realm against my will, as I am truly from Manheim. I am legendary on my world for generosity. Now, instead of antagonizing me and labeling me as a demon, why don't you tell me what in the name of Odin you're talking about?"

Cooler heads did indeed prevail that day, and a farmer came up to Denmark. He said, "We've had our crops taxed at over 2 times what the wealthiest non-noble can afford. If we can't pay the tax, they seize the crops." Denmark's blood boiled. "Does anyone know what happened? Where do, or did, the crops go after confiscation?" He was lead to a large building on the palatial grounds. Opening it, he and the locals gasped. There was not only fresh bread but barrels upon barrels of beer, and various root vegetables. "Greenland, oversee the redistribution," said Denmark. "I have a battle to prepare for."

The military camp was infinitely better than the swampy squalor of St. Olaf's City. It was on high ground, overlooking a vast plain that stretched out into infinity. Here, the battlefield was set. Here, the fate of humanity in other realms would be decided.


End file.
